


The Shattered Cup

by hal_incandenza



Series: Shattered Cup Series [2]
Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Gen, M/M, PTSD Maia and Jace, Plot, Shadowhunter/Downworlder Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 66,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8249210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hal_incandenza/pseuds/hal_incandenza
Summary: Fragments of the Mortal Cup have fallen into Valentine's hands, and an unsteady new Downworlder/Shadowhunter coalition is hot on the trail. Alec and Magnus navigate their new relationship, Clary adjusts to her new life, Jace grapples with his inheritance, Izzy grapples with her feelings, and Maia hesitantly joins the pack.Canon-divergent after 1x09 - an imagined version of Season 2.





	1. Prologue

_Feel like a brand new person_

_(But you make the same old mistakes)_

_I don’t care I’m in love_

_(Stop before it’s too late)_

_Feel like a brand new person_

_(But you make the same old mistakes)_

_I finally know what is love_

_(You don’t have what it takes)_

[ [from](https://youtu.be/qjWs-lVa8Oc) ]

0.

Magnus had stopped aging long ago. He had seen most of what life had to offer, and by now it was dull—just routines gathering dust. But there were still some things worth rediscovering, some things that awed him every time. A budding relationship was one of them; falling in love and seeing that relationship bloom another; cats, good music, the ocean. It had been a long time since Magnus fell in love, but each time, it still felt new and dazzling.

The particular physicality of getting to know another person in this way, that was Magnus’s favorite. Not just touching, learning about their body, not that. The body language. The silent conversation. Orbiting each other. Touching, not touching, eating together, sitting together, speaking standing up, speaking sitting down. Negotiating a space together. The way moments shifted from one state to another, from apart to together, quickly, slowly, with purpose. Signals pulsing out, signals he’d receive unconsciously and answer unconsciously, until they were vibrating on the same frequency without speaking a word. Gravity drawing them together.

He was tracking Alec’s movements as he spoke now, telling a wild tale of some unsupervised weekend at the Institute. They were sitting in a hotel bar downtown. It was a low-lit bar, gold and red with a stripey carpet, fading in Hollywood-Regency-type splendor. The room around them hummed with the voices and laughter of other couples and friends and traveling businessmen. Magnus took no notice of them. He was tracking the way Alec bobbed and ducked his head as he spoke, and his hands framing the sentences. The planes of his face, angling towards Magnus, then away. Magnus felt himself turning as Alec did, reflecting like a satellite. Falling in love never did get old. Like Magnus himself.

*   *   *

“...And that’s why our parents won’t let us keep a pet,” concluded Alec. He knew Magnus barely heard over his own uproarious laughter, and smiled.

They were on a date downtown—they were dating. It was that simple. Alec grinned a little wider.

Magnus took another sip of his cocktail, still chuckling. “Well remind me not to let Izzy or Jace near my cat or my wireless router.”

“Will do,” said Alec, also taking another sip of his drink.

Magnus leaned against the bar and cocked his head. He had stopped laughing and was now just smiling at him.

“What?” said Alec.

“Nothing,” said Magnus.

“Okay,” said Alec.

“I’m just... happier than I’ve been in a long time, Alexander,” said Magnus.

The full name always got Alec. His heart stuttered.

“Well I—it—” Alec began— _Get control of yourself, Lightwood_ —“Me too. Magnus.”

Magnus reached over to where Alec’s hand rested on the bar, and placed his hand on top of Alec’s. Alec met his eyes and they gazed at each other for a long moment. Alec rubbed his thumb against his boyfriend’s. _This is a good time_ _to work on opening up,_ said a voice in his head that sounded a lot like Izzy’s. _Saying what you think instead of holding it in._

“Magnus, I...” he began, “I spent a lot of years daydreaming and wishing for something. The kind of wishing you do on—on a dandelion or birthday candles. The kind you never truly think will come true,” Alec said, looking out at the murmuring crowd of bar patrons. “But that you sort of hold, in an unreal place in your chest. I pushed all my feelings, about guys, about um, about Jace, into this space, out of sight. Sometimes I’d visit, let myself imagine it—a life with a boyfriend, sweet and sincere and simple, in this, like, fantasy space. Dates, hand-holding, kissing. All that, stupid stuff. But there was always this doubt, no matter how perfect I pictured it, this doubt that the real thing, would ever be as good.”

Alec looked back at him. Magnus stared back.

“Well those doubts were wrong,” said Alec. “It is as good. You, are as good. Better than any daydream.”

“Alexander...” The sad, loving smile that broke out over Magnus’s face made Alec’s heart swell. Saying those things was hard, but it felt good to share them with Magnus. It felt right.

Magnus raised his other hand and rested it against Alec’s cheek. Alec smiled a little and dropped his gaze to Magnus’s shoes. They were covered with sequins.

“I’ve said it before, but, after so many years, I was losing faith in love.” Magnus dipped his head to catch Alec’s gaze again. Looking into his eyes he said, “But you’ve renewed it, Alec. I’m... so glad to be with you.”

Alec smiled lopsidedly and closed his eyes. He turned his head and quickly kissed Magnus’s palm. Magnus chuckled fondly and pressed his hand on Alec’s cheek, then dropped it to his arm.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

Alec nodded. “Let’s.”

Out the bar and across the hotel lobby, through the revolving door—Alec stepped out and turned only to see his boyfriend taking a second spin around, just for kicks. He laughed, buttoning his jacket against the chill. When Magnus emerged, grinning, Alec reached out and adjusted the warlock’s scarf, fixing the crease and tucking it under his collar.

Magnus beamed up at him, steam rising between them. “You’re ten,” said Alec. “Revolving door ride? Really? You’re three hundred, but you’re ten.”

“It’s all about _joie de vivre_ , Alexander,” said Magnus, as Alec patted his lapel. His puffs of winter breath mingled with Alec’s. “Keeps me young.”

Alec smiled, hands still resting on his boyfriend’s chest. Snow was already caught in his hair. He was so incredibly cute. But his words— _keeps me young—_ echoed in Alec’s ears.

“Come here,” said Magnus, slipping his hands around Alec’s elbows and drawing him closer. Alec leaned in, saw Magnus’s eyes close and felt his warm breath on his lips... they kissed. Familiar and slow and sweet. Magnus gripped Alec’s arms and Alec slid a hand up to cup his boyfriend’s cheek. _Keeps me young..._

At length, they broke apart. Magnus sighed and began to lean away, but Alec tipped his head forward and pressed his forehead to Magnus’s. The warlock sighed and closed his eyes. Alec gazed at him through his lashes, at his boyfriend’s smiling cheeks and round nose and glittery eyelids. There were no thoughts in his head, about the unsustainable goodness of the present or the certain darkness of the future. Just a feeling of inarticulate unease. Alec couldn’t put it in words, not even in his head. He swallowed, focusing on his boyfriend’s closed eyes, an inch from his. Magnus spoke first:

“Do you want to head home?” he said. “Or to my place?”

“Your place,” said Alec.

Magnus smiled, straightening up, and took his hand. “Off we go then.”

Alec took his hand and followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> misc notes:
> 
> \- the story alec alludes to is based on my real life experience watching shadowhunters for the first time. our parents were gone overnight so my two younger siblings and i decided to marathon the first twelve episodes in one night. in the course of the evening, we broke the refrigerator and wireless router and endangered the life of our dog (don't worry, she was fine), but we did get to episode 12, around 5 AM. when they got home the next day, our parents were not pleased.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! so, I started this within the week of the Season 1 finale, because I was impatient for Season 2. I started out just writing my idea of Magnus and Alec's relationship arc, but it grew quickly into me solving all the problems I wanted addressed in Season 2, particularly with Clary and Jace and their messed-up lives, as well as Magnus and Alec's conflicting/compatible personalities and how they would have to adapt and grow to stay together. I also really wanted Season 2 to have Maia, but I started this long before any casting announcements or trailers, so the Maia in this story is based entirely on the books.
> 
> I actually wrote chapters 1-9 in the spring, and then I set off on a cross-country road trip for the summer. So what you're reading is actually past me's writing and it is, to present me, a bit melodramatic and dense; but for the sake of my own writery self-esteem, I decided to write the last chapter and share it all with the world as i had originally intended.
> 
> Last note: this story is technically a sequel, but you don't have to have read part one. the only plot content you need to know is that Valentine tried to steal the Cup and it got broken, and he escaped with a few pieces of it. Jace knows about his father's real identity now, but he is still with the Lightwoods. hopefully both of those things are contextually clear enough, but just in case.
> 
> enjoy and thanks for reading! <3

_It's just a line_

_Line that I feel_

_That's splitting me apart_

_I should belong..._

[ [epigraph from](https://youtu.be/YQO-k8wHrHg) ; [la brea tar pits](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Brea_Tar_Pits), [los angeles, united states](http://www.tarpits.org/visit/map) ]

1.

Almost two months had passed since Valentine had gotten ahold of the Mortal Cup, only to have it broken by Alec. He had escaped with a few fragments, and for a while, it seemed, laid low. The Clave and the New York Institute, with some Downworlders in a tenuous alliance, had taken that time to draw up defensive plans.

In a complex group effort led by Magnus, some of the most powerful warlocks around the globe had enchanted a vault for the remaining shards of the cup. Magnus also used the shards to create a tracking spell, which was connected to a map displayed in Idris and the New York Institute. It showed the location of the sixteen cup shards. Twelve remained fixed in Idris. For the first month, the other four had not shown up on the map. Then, a couple weeks ago, they had appeared, flashing in Tokyo. Valentine was on the move again, and carrying the cup shards with him.

They spent the first week chasing him from city to city. He would appear on the map in a major urban area; the Institute would call Magnus urgently and he’d come enhance the tracking spell to Valentine’s exact location. Usually, that location was within a few blocks of the Institute in that city. They would send a force to capture him, but by the time they got there, he would be gone. Valentine vanished each time. Once, they caught a glimpse of him: standing, glamored, down the block from the Buenos Aires Institute, with his hands clasped in prayer. Magnus suspected he had been doing a tracking spell of his own—trying to figure out where the rest of the cup was being kept.

Intelligence reports corroborated: Valentine was still after the cup. Though he was undoubtedly cooking up other schemes, the Mortal Cup was his priority. The one thing their agents could not tell them was how he was traveling. When he disappeared from their maps, or rather, when the shards they were tracking disappeared—that was impossible. At least, it should have been.

“Is he leaving the planet?” Jace had growled once.

“He’s probably hiding out somewhere protected,” Alec had said.

“My tracking should be stronger than any defensive spells,” Magnus had said. “At least, any spells cast by a shadowhunter... No, he’s got some other trick up his sleeve.”

“He always does,” Jace had said, half to himself.

After his week of popping up around Institutes and then vanishing, Valentine had made a bold move—a siege on the Iron Sisters. Most likely to try forcing them to repair the cup. With a small team of traitor shadowhunters and his experimental Forsaken, Valentine had scaled the walls of the Adamant Citadel. Fortunately, thanks to Magnus’s map, Idris had notified the Iron Sisters in time. They defended their fortress easily, killing a few of Valentine’s soldiers. But before the Idris forces arrived, they had vanished—the dead included. Theories abounded about their unnaturally quick travel method, but no one could say for sure. It seemed Valentine was in league with some new and unknown force.

The siege on the Iron Sisters had been followed by another week of quiet. Fall was turning into winter, Jace, Clary, and Isabelle were finishing their disciplinary probation, Clary was training, Simon was off vampiring with Raphael, and Alec was spending more of his free time at Magnus’s. Idris was tracking down Valentine with spies and special ops; New York was waiting for his next move. Finally, on a Sunday evening, it came.

*   *   *

_November 14, 2016_

_Full Moon_

“California?”

“Yes,” said Raj. “Call your warlock, ask if he wants to come. Wheels up in ten minutes.”

Alec nodded, pulling out his phone. He strode towards his room, passing the training room, where Jace was punching something. “Jace,” he said. “Tracker picked up a signal. Ten minutes.”

Jace’s back stiffened. He threw another punch at the bag, a hard one.

Alec stopped walking. “Do you want to come?” he asked. “You don’t have to.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Jace, still leaning against the punching bag. “I’m finally done with probation... I’ll be there.”

Alec continued on his way to his room, turning down the hall, concern nagging. Jace had been in a mood for a while. Alec hoped that finally having something to do would help. He kept dialing with one hand, and with the other, reached out and knocked on Clary’s door.

“Clary,” he said. “Activity on the Valentine tracker. We gotta go.”

“Now?” said Clary’s muffled voice.

“Nine minutes,” said Alec. “Get geared up. Do you know where Izzy is?”

“I’m here, Alec,” said Izzy’s voice.

“Sorry, Izzy,” said Alec. Her probation was not yet finished. “We’ll tell you everything when we get back.”

“Yeah, he’ll probably just vanish anyway,” Alec heard Clary saying to Izzy.

“Clary,” he said. “Portal. Eight minutes.”

“Yup!” she said.

Alec kept walking. His phone was ringing Magnus’s. Alec pushed his bedroom door open as Magnus picked up.

“Alexander,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Magnus,” he said, “There’s been activity on the tracker. We’re leaving in ten. The Institute wants you to come with, if you can.”

“Oh,” said Magnus. Alec heard the TV in the background, switching off. “I’ll be right over. Where are we going?”

“California,” said Alec. “See you soon.”

“See you, dear,” said Magnus.

Alec smiled quickly, and hung up.

*   *   *

“I can’t believe they’re keeping you benched for so long,” said Clary. “All you did was help free Meliorn. You weren’t a fugitive like me and—and Jace. If anything, _we_ should still be on probation.”

She was at her desk, pulling on her combat boots. Izzy, slumped on the floor against Clary’s bed, waved a hand. “Not your fault, Clary,” she said. “Just the bureaucracy.”

Clary frowned, tying her right shoelace. “Still.”

“It’s only a few more days anyway,” said Izzy, sighing. She tapped her tablet with a chipped fingernail, closing the Netflix window they had been watching—one of Clary’s animes. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Clary finished tying her other boot and hugged her leg. She rested her chin on her knee, surveying the shadowhunter. Clary hadn’t known Izzy very long, but ever since her almost-expulsion, she had seemed less... herself. Clary was worried about her.

Clary finished her boots and stood, pulling on her jacket.

“I’ll walk you down,” Izzy said.

“Thanks,” said Clary. “I’m so nervous.”

“Understandable,” said Izzy, standing and linking her arm through Clary’s. “But like you said—Valentine will probably just disappear again.”

They walked out to the weapons room. Around the table, Alec was putting runes on his arrows and Mayrse was appraising seraph blades; the main lobby beyond was a flurry of activity. Clary and Izzy crossed the room, Clary greeting the Lightwood parents and picking up a small seraph blade.

“You sure?” Izzy asked, resting her chin on Clary’s shoulder. “You can handle a little more firepower don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” said Clary dubiously. She held up a larger one. “But it throws my balance off.”

“You just have to rise to the challenge,” said Izzy. She reached her strong arms around Clary’s, guiding her hand. Her breath was warm in Clary’s ear. “If you—”

“Isabelle,” said Mayrse in a warning tone. Izzy jumped back, letting go of Clary. The seraph blade clattered onto the table.

 _The whole probation thing must still be a sore subject,_ Clary thought. Her arms were cold where Izzy’s had been.

“I’ll take the bigger one,” said Clary. “Thanks Iz—”

She turned, but Izzy was gone. Instead, Jace was standing in the doorway. Their eyes met for a second before Jace turned and walked towards Alec. Clary’s heart sank. No matter how many times she tried talking to him, Jace’s jaw remained locked. The mix of guilt and concern that surged in her stomach every time she saw him—even after weeks, it was enough to make her sick. He wouldn’t talk to her. But what could she do besides keep trying?

Jace was talking to Alec, his back to her. She walked over, pocketing the seraph blade.

“Hi guys,” she said.

Alec, talking to his parabatai in a low voice, raised his eyebrows at her. Jace didn’t turn around.

“Hi, Clary,” said Alec. “All set?”

“Yep,” she said, patting her pocket. “Ready to kick our father’s ass.”

Alec huffed an unsmiling laugh.

“ _My_ father,” muttered Jace.

“What?” said Clary.

“My father,” said Jace, finally turning. His face was tight. “He raised me, not you.”

“That doesn’t really ch—” Clary began, but Jace was already walking away. He left a silent bridge of space between Clary and Alec.

“That went well,” Alec said.

Clary twisted her mouth. She felt like crying. As usual.

“Maybe he’ll kill something and feel better,” Clary said miserably, dropping her head.

“Don’t say that,” said Alec, shouldering his quiver. “It’ll encourage him.”

“It’s not like he listens to anything I say,” muttered Clary, but Alec just raised his eyebrows and strode off towards the briefing.

In her pocket, Clary’s phone buzzed. A text from Izzy:

_good luck._

_thanks,_ Clary wrote back. _i’ll tell you everything when we get home. and don’t watch any more snk without me._

 _u dont have to worry about that,_ Izzy replied. _this cartoon is too weird for me._

Clary smiled. She pocketed her phone and headed for the briefing.

*   *   *

Standing before the team, Raj gave the briefing quickly. The quickly-gathered New York force had representatives from most of the shadow world: Luke and one of his pack members, a young woman with french braids and a scowl, represented the werewolves; Simon was there with another vampire, a girl with bangs; from the shadowhunters, Alec, Jace, Clary, and his mother; and Magnus stood beside Alec, representing the warlocks. The seelies still declined to get involved. The alliance was tenuous and still young—it was no coincidence that most of the representatives knew each other already. Few other Downworlders were willing to work so closely with the shadowhunters, or each other.

Magnus’s shoulder was gently leaning against Alec’s upper arm. Alec was reluctant to touch more than Magnus’s shoulder in front of his parents. He wanted put his arm around his boyfriend, but they kept PDA to a minimum around Alec’s parents. They’d discussed it, and Magnus understood. Even with restrictions, Magnus’s simple presence calmed Alec’s nerves. But truthfully, he wasn’t too nervous. Valentine always showed up and then disappeared—this mission would probably be no more successful, or dangerous, than any of the others.

“Valentine is in Los Angeles., but not near the L.A. Institute,” Raj was saying. “We don’t know what he’s after this time. He showed up twelve minutes ago, and we anticipate him fleeing as soon as he detects our presence. To hide our arrival we’ll be splitting into two teams and arriving from separate directions.” Raj clicked to the next screen. “Valentine is here.” He pointed to a green patch of park in a residential area. “We will portal here, and here.” He pointed at a spot several blocks east, and one several blocks west. “Both portals open near bus stops. We’ll take public transport to avoid detection. The next buses arrive in two and three minutes respectively, so we need to get moving. Are there any questions?”

No one said anything.

“Great. Mayrse has the team assignments.”

Alec’s mother stepped forward, and reeled off the names, pointing at each person.

“Green team is Clary, Simon, Magnus, and Mayrse. Red team is Alec, Jace, Lily, Maia, and Luke. Good luck.”

Alec sighed before he could stop himself. Splitting up him and Magnus was probably tactically smart, but tactics was definitely not his mother’s motivation.

Everyone was already moving towards the portal, dividing into the teams. Clary and Simon were doing a complex handshake of some sort. The group parted, leaving Magnus and Alec alone on the Institute floor. For a moment they stood, side by side, shoulder-to-shoulder. Magnus didn’t move except to lean a little harder, pressing his shoulder into Alec’s.

“Good luck then,” Alec said.

“The same to you,” said Magnus. “Maybe it will be over quickly and I can finish my movie.”

“What were you watching?” said Alec.

“ _Snowpiercer_ ,” said Magnus. “It’s quite good so far.”

Alec had no idea what that was. “Cool,” he said.

He glanced around, and, seeing the backs of both his parents, quickly wrapped his arm around Magnus’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head. Magnus’s gelled hair smelled like an unknown fruit. Alec let go quickly, and Magnus smiled up at him.

“Stay safe, Alexander,” he said.

A few moments and a portal trip later he was on a city bus in central Los Angeles. His team was a quiet group; Alec and Jace sat on one side of the bus, knees bumping each other’s, while the girls named Lily and Maia sat on the opposite side, an empty seat between them. Luke stood, holding the bar overhead. No one made small talk. Alec was fine with that.

“Fairfax and 6th,” said the intercom.

“That’s us, green team,” Luke said. They followed him off the bus.

Alec had never been to California before. These apartment buildings were not as tall as New York, and they were spaced out, with the in-between full of trees. It made Alec only half-believe they were in a city.

The park where Valentine’s signal was coming from was large and hushed, criscrossed with paved paths and dotted with orange streetlights. A clump of buildings rose from the southern corner, and palms disappeared into the western side before them. All the late fall coolness of New York was forgotten. The air here was warm and dense, and a murky bank of light-pollution-orange clouds hung overhead.

“Alright, fan out,” said Luke. “Keep quiet. Jace and Alec, you head southeast, Lily and Maia, you go south, towards the buildings. I’ll take the northeast. Watch out for guards, text if you see anything. Okay?”

“You’re going alone?” said Maia, at the same time Lily said, “I’m going with _her_?”

Luke looked at them. “Yes.”

“No offense, but I don't need—” Lily began.

“Luke, I don’t think you should go alo—” Maia began.

Luke cut them off. “I appreciate your inputs, both of you, but we have a limited time frame. We can critique recon protocols over a coffee sometime.”

Jace and Alec exchanged looks.

“Okay?”

Both girls, not looking at each other, nodded.

“Okay. Let’s move. We’ll meet at the southeast corner, Wilshire and Curson, five minutes.”

With a last nod, Luke disappeared into the darkness. Alec looked at Jace. Jace looked at the other two. Lily picked at her teeth with a long fingernail, nonchalantly showing off a fang.

“Good luck,” Jace said.

“Whatever,” both girls said in unison, then looked at each other in surprise.

“Let’s go,” Alec muttered, tapping Jace’s arm. They moved off to the left, leaving the downworld pair standing under the orange light.

Bushes and trees flashed by in the warm night air. Alec didn’t see any sign of shadow world activity—not even a speck of faerie dust. There weren’t any mundanes either. The park seemed totally empty.

Running beside Jace, Alec felt good. It had been a long time since they went into battle together. The unease in his stomach loosened. In a confusing universe, this was right.

A sign loomed up on the next lamppost:

_PIT 91_

⇨

“A pit,” Jace said between breaths. “Sounds like a place you’d find my dad.”

Alec huffed a laugh. “Let’s check it out.”

A weird triangle of a building was coming into view. They followed the signs, cutting around the large, brightly-lit glass entrance. A field opened up, populated with palms, fences, a shimmering pond, and... _animals?_ Statues, Alec realized. He stopped on the crest of the hill.

“Are we at the tar pits?” he asked.

“The what?” panted Jace.

“The La Brea tar pits,” said Alec.

“I wasn’t paying attention at the briefing,” Jace said.

“No, they didn’t mention the tar pits, though,” said Alec. “They might not even have realized that’s what this park is. It’s more of a mundane landmark. What could Valentine want from tar pits?”

“Maybe a secret hideout,” said Jace. “Tar monster? Maybe there’s buried treasure.”

“Mm,” said Alec.

“Come on,” said Jace, and he started moving again. Alec followed, nocking an arrow.

They trotted down the hill, weaving through palms and statues. The creatures—dinosaurs, mammoths, deer—shone dully in the dark. Alec’s skin prickled. He knew they were statues, but they felt alive somehow. He tightened his grip on his bow.

As they approached the fenced-in pond, Alec saw that, indeed, it was a tar pit. _Pit 91._ Stakes, strings, and a tent poked out. _This must be the active excavation_ , Alec thought. They slowed, surveying the dig site. Jace dropped down behind a triceratops, and Alec crouched behind a shrub.

“Do you see anyone?” he whispered.

Jace was looking. He shook his head.

“Wait—yeah,” said Jace. “I see someone under the tent.” He squinted. “They’re opening crates.”

“Is it your—is it Valentine?” hissed Alec.

Jace kept looking. Alec realized Jace might not immediately recognize Valentine’s figure. The father he had known had been a fake—both in identity and appearance.

“Let’s get a closer look,” said Alec, drawing his bow. He moved forward lightly, half-crouched. Jace followed close behind.

They crossed the last few yards to the fence and flattened themselves in the grass. Alec squinted at the figure. It was moving furtively, prying open crates. It glanced over its shoulder, and the orange streetlight glow bounced off his bald head. Alec looked at Jace and nodded. Jace’s jaw clenched.

Alec pulled out his phone and sent a text to Luke, then looked back up at Jace. With a nod, they scrambled up and snuck towards the digsite gate.

Alec covered Jace as he unlocked it, with an unlock rune and a silence rune. His stomach felt light. There was no sign of anyone, guarding Valentine or keeping watch for him. This seemed impossible to Alec—but wherever his assistants were, he was not seeing them. Jace finished opening it and they slipped in.

Jace led the way, Alec following with an arrow nocked. They hugged the fence, moving in the shadows towards the dark figure. Alec glanced around at the empty dig site, then back at Valentine. They were close enough now to see him holding something up to the light, examining it.

Jace had come to a stop behind a stack of crates. Alec looked at Jace, but Jace’s eyes were fixed on his father. His parabatai looked pale and strained.

Alec touched his arm.

“ _You should shoot him_ ,” Jace whispered suddenly.

“ _What?_ ”

“I can’t do it,” said Jace. His voice cracked. “But someone’s got to.”

“We’re going to capture him for a _trial_ ,” Alec whispered. “We’re not mercenaries.”

“He’s too dangerous!” hissed Jace.

“That’s not—”

“Boys,” said a voice behind them. Alec and Jace turned, but everything went black.

*   *   *

“Alec. Alec.”

The next thing Alec knew, a familiar face was hovering over him. Light triangles of eyebrow were knitted together in concern.

“Alec?”

“Mm,” said Alec. He smiled dazedly at his boyfriend, then groaned. “God, my head...”

“You got knocked out,” Magnus said. “Are you alright?”

His head was throbbing and he was lying in mud. “I’m fine,” he said. “Where’s Valentine? Where’s Jace?”

“Jace was knocked out too, but he’s fine. Valentine is gone. The crates have been opened and rifled through, though—seems like he was looking for something. But there’s no way to know what, exactly, or if he got it...”

“He was holding something up,” said Alec, sitting up stiffly. “That was the last thing I saw. It looked like a pretty big bone.”

“Jace said the same,” said Magnus. He was crouched next to Alec in the mud, and Alec saw the rest of their teams milling about the digsite. He could see Jace, arms folded, standing with Luke, and Clary and Simon, deep in conversation. Magnus put a tentative hand on Alec’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“What? Yeah, no, I’m fine,” Alec said, rubbing his eyes. “I just need an _iratze_.”

He looked at Magnus. Magnus looked back with concerned eyes.

“I’m okay, really, Magnus,” said Alec. Magnus stared for another moment, then squeezed his shoulder and offered him a hand up. Alec took it, and they stood.

“Okay, everyone, time to head out,” Mayrse’s voice rang out. Magnus and Alec let go of each other’s hands. “We have injuries that need checking. We’ll investigate further in the morning.”

“Was anyone else hurt?” Alec asked, leaning towards Magnus.

“Lily and Maia had a run in with someone, probably the same warrior who caught you two,” he said, “We aren’t sure who. Or what. Lily says their blood smelled like seelie, but as we know, blood can get... mixed up around Valentine.”

“Are they—?”

“And we’re traveling in the same teams, please,” Mayrse’s voice rang out. Alec saw she was turning away from them, and suppressed an eyeroll.

“They’re okay too,” Magnus answered him.

“Right,” said Alec, rubbing his head. “Well, enjoy the rest of your movie.”

Magnus beamed at him. “See you soon, Alexander.”

*   *   *

“Head okay?” Alec asked Jace. They were sitting in the back of the near-empty bus. Maia and Luke were sitting up front, and Lily sat alone by a window. Both downworld women were nursing minor injuries from the anonymous attacker.

Jace grunted. “Yours?”

“It’s fine,” said Alec with a grimace.

There was a pause.

“It was good to be out there,” Alec said. “Back in the field. Fighting together.”

Jace grunted again.

Alec didn’t know what else to add. He had never had to be the talkative one.

“Did you... feel better? Being on a mission?” he said.

Jace looked at his parabatai with annoyance.

“Yeah, felt great, hunting the man who raised me.”

Alec raised his eyebrows. Jace looked away.

“No. Doesn’t feel good.”

“Better than sitting around, though, right?”

Jace shook his head. “I... I don’t know.”

Alec didn’t say anything. All he knew of Jace’s childhood was the handful of stories his stepbrother had told him. Jace had always told the stories fondly, but they had never given Alec anything but concern. Like the one about the falcon. The revelation of his father’s true identity had been, in a way, unsurprising to Alec. Whether it was Michael Wayland or Valentine Morgenstern who had abused his stepbrother, who had gaslighted and programmed him since birth, made little difference. Jace was fragile, and it was because of that man—whoever he was. Even as he’d idolized his father, Jace had worked these last nine years to build his own life without him. Now that he was back, it had all come crashing down.

“It’s like...” Jace glanced at his brother, then back at his feet. “I know it isn’t my fault. No one can help who their parents are. But I feel... dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” said Alec

“When I’m out in action. Like I might hurt someone. Like I’m...a sleeper agent or something.”

“A _sleeper_ agent?”

“I know it’s a stupid idea, I just can’t get it out of my head,” Jace said. “There’s darkness in me, Alec. When I’m in battle, I want to fight, to _hurt_ my enemies. No one should _want_ that. Or when I look at—” his voice broke, “—when I look at Clary, and remember, how I—how I felt—my _sister—_ ” Jace leaned forward, burying his face in his hands.

“Jace,” said Alec, his heart sinking. Feeling the wrong way about a family member—he knew about that. “You didn’t know.”

Jace just shook his head, lowering his hands slowly from his eyes.

“There’s darkness in me, Alec,” he said again. He was nearly whispering. “I can feel it. If Valentine can do what he does, those experiments, the kidnapping and murder, what he did to Luke, hunting his own wife and child? That’s the blood in my veins. That’s the training I was built with.”

He looked over at Alec. His eyes were wide and scared. Alec’s heart was somewhere in his stomach.

“If he can do all that, what does that make me?”

“ _Not him_ ,” said Alec. “It doesn’t matter where you come from, it matters what choices you make. And you _always_ choose what’s right, Jace.”

Jace stared at his feet. “Valentine thinks he’s right too,” he said.

Alec opened his mouth, then closed it. Then he opened it again: “The fact that you’re even worrying like this,” he said, “proves what kind of person you are. You can’t bear the thought of hurting innocent people. Do you think Valentine loses sleep over the things he does? Of course not.” Alec leaned forward. Jace glanced over without meeting his eyes. “Even the _idea_ , the slimmest possibility, of harming innocent people, keeps you up at night. _That’s_ how I know that you can’t—that you _won’t_ hurt anyone.”

Alec cocked his head, trying to catch his parabatai’s eye. Jace looked at Alec’s knee. His expression was guarded, but thoughtful. He didn’t say anything more, just sat forward, elbows on his knees, until they reached their stop.

*   *   *

Clary knocked twice.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me,” said Clary.

“Oh, hey! Come on out.”

Clary opened the balcony door.

“How did it go?”

Izzy was sitting on her balcony, feet up on the railing, looking up from her tablet. Clary smiled.

“Hey, Iz,” she said. “What are you doing out here?”

Isabelle’s balcony overlooked the churchyard and the leafless oaks. Moonlight and light pollution lit the familiar skyline, and Izzy’s breath rose from her lips in frosty puffs. She was smiling at Clary.

“Couldn’t sleep, so I dragged my armchair out here,” said Izzy. “Sick of being cooped up. So how was the mission?” Izzy asked.

Clary crossed the porch and sank to the floor, her back against the railing. “It was fine,” she sighed. “Well, weird. Valentine wasn't there, but he got away.” Untying her boots, Clary gave a summary of what had happened. Izzy listened thoughtfully. She seemed in a better mood than when they’d left. Clary pulled a boot off.

“What were you watching?” Clary asked, nodding at the tablet. “ _Attack on Titan_?”

“Oh, no,” said Izzy. She closed the cover. “More of your British show. What is it called?”

“ _Sherlock_?” Clary said.

“That one, yes.”

“Do you like it?”

Izzy’s face scrunched apologetically. “No...”

“Iz!” said Clary, unlacing her other boot. “That show is universally critically acclaimed!”

“Uh, does that make it good?” demanded Izzy. “No it does not. I don’t like the dynamic between Holmes and Watson.”

“But they have great chemistry!”

Clary was on a quest for a show that Izzy would enjoy. Izzy was bored as hell, and Clary was desperate to bring her old mundane life into her new one, in any way possible. But so far they had burned through all her animes and courtroom dramas, and Izzy had not taken to any of them. Not that that hurt Clary’s feelings--the quest was still fun.

“Yes at first,” said Izzy, waving a hand, “But there hasn't been any _growth_. I think Holmes is mean to Watson, and he gets away with it because everyone thinks he’s smart. He’s mean to everyone!”

Clary sighed. “Iz, the point is that John makes him nicer,” said Clary. “That’s the whole Watson-Holmes _thing_.”

“But he hasn’t gotten any nicer!” cried Izzy. She held up the tablet and shook it dramatically. “And besides! It’s not Watson’s _job_ to make Holmes nicer. You can’t spend your life on another person like that, not when they give you nothing in return.”

“He doesn’t give nothing,” said Clary. “It’s a partnership.”

“That is no partnership, Clary Fray,” said Izzy. “No balance! No boundaries!”

“But they both care about each other,” said Clary.

“That isn’t enough,” said Izzy.

Clary shook her head, smiling. “Fine,” she said. “We’ll try another show...”

*   *   *

A few hours later, near dawn, found Clary making her way quietly down the dark halls of the Institute. She and Izzy had stayed up late, losing track of time. After Izzy went off to bed, Clary still hadn’t been able to sleep. Her mind was still buzzing from the mission, and being with Izzy always made her more alert, for some reason. More alive.

Clary held her breath as she crept down the hall. The Institute dimmed its lights after 1 AM, and it made Clary feel like a little kid on a dangerous midnight expedition to the bathroom.

But she wasn’t going to the bathroom, she was going to the kitchen. The door was ajar and she opened it soundlessly. Refrigerator. Just across the—

“Who’s there?”

Clary jumped. Alec was sitting at the counter.

“Alec,” she said, putting her hand on her chest. “You scared me.”

The kitchen was as modern and opulent as the rest of the Institute, with appliances bordering a large marble island. Alec was hunched at the counter under its harsh fluorescent glow, holding something. He just raised his eyebrows at her.

“Getting a midnight snack?” she said.

“No,” said Alec. “Is that what you’re here for?”

She nodded. “Orange juice.”

His eyebrows knit together.

She shrugged. “My mom used to give it to me when I couldn’t sleep.”

He looked at her but didn’t say anything. Clary knew Alec didn’t hate her anymore, but he still always seemed thoroughly unimpressed with her. She glanced around awkwardly, then continued to the fridge.

She poured the orange juice and sat down at the marble island, diagonally across from Alec so he wouldn’t feel obligated to talk. But he looked up and raised his eyebrows at her again when she sat.

“So a sugary drink helps you sleep? Seems counterintuitive,” he said.

“It’s natural sugar,” Clary said, taking a sip. “Mostly, it just reminds me of home. Of my mom. She used to say orange juice was our special drink because it was orange. Like our hair.”

Alec smiled a little at that. _Victory_. Clary took another sip.

“So what are you doing in the kitchen at 3 AM?”

“I just woke up,” Alec said. He glanced down at the object his hand. “Bad dream, actually.”

Clary cocked her head. “That’s too bad,” she said. “Do you remember it?”

Alec nodded, but didn’t volunteer any details. Clary drank. Then Alec sighed.

“It was about Jace. And M—and Magnus.”

Clary leaned forward. “How do you mean?” she said carefully. “Like...?”

“No,” said Alec, glancing quickly at her. “Not like that. I’m just, worried, about both of them. Separately. About everyone, really.”

Clary nodded. “I’m worried about Jace too,” she said. “And Izzy. And everyone. Well, except Simon. He seems surprisingly good.” She made a face and took another sip of orange juice.

“Mm.” Alec fiddled with whatever he was holding. Something about the fluorescent lights and his ratty pajama shirt made him look younger.

Clary sighed. Maybe sharing something of her own would encourage Alec to do the same, she thought. “It’s been three months now, but I miss my mom more than ever,” Clary said. “She and Simon and Luke were my whole world, and now... I just feel so disoriented, about Valentine and about Jace. It’s so hard, navigating this new family. If you can call it that. The best I can do is work on being kind. Sharing the love she spent her whole life giving me.” She looked at Alec. “It’s just hard.”

Alec was looking at her. He nodded. “I’m sure she would be proud, if she could see her kid.” Clary’s mouth twitched. “Kids, I mean,” Alec added. “She’d be proud of both of you.”

“Try telling Jace that,” she said, raising her eyebrows and taking another sip. “He won’t even talk to me about her. Won’t talk to me at all, really.”

Alec sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “Jace is... not doing great. He really looked up to his father—the man he thought his father was, anyway. This has shattered a core part of his identity. I know he’s your father too, but for you, your dad was just a mythical figure... Imagine how it is for him. They were close like you and your mother. It would be like if you found out _your_ mother was an infamous, genocidal zealot in disguise...” Alec broke off.

Clary looked up at him. Suddenly, a ghost of a realization rose between them—that both of their mothers _had_ been members of the genocidal gang, and never told them. Clary felt the weight of this shared history suddenly and keenly, pressing down on her shoulders. Obviously, she her relationship to her mother was different than Alec’s or Izzy’s. But this was still a fact they had in common—an inescapable one.

Alec cleared his throat. “Anyway...” he said. “There’s a lot... on everyone’s mind these days. Go easy on yourself, and on Jace. I’ll keep trying to talk him round.”

“You should too,” said Clary. She had finished her orange juice, and stood. “Go easy on yourself.”

Alec didn’t answer, rolling the object in his hands between his fingers. Clary finally saw what it was—an acorn.

“I know that isn’t always... easy for you, Alec,” she said, picking up her glass. “But you can’t take the burden off of Jace. You can only help him carry it.”

He jerked his head in a nod, still not answering. She crossed to the sink, washing her glass and putting it on the dish drainer.

“Good night Alec,” Clary said to his back.

“Night,” he said. “See you tomorrow for training.”

She left him sitting at the counter, rolling the acorn between his fingers.

*   *   *

_Ain't it lonely_

_Living all the time_

_When everybody dies?_

 


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heads-up, this chapter is the first to deal with maia's ptsd. she's a pov character, thinking about her abuse/trauma and flashing back a bit. just so you know in advance.
> 
> also, the weird thing about the clock tower is real, i've been there and my peruvian friend pointed it out. 
> 
> enjoy! next chapter coming thursday night.

_A hint of light in the dark_

_But only enough to keep from giving up_

_If I could go back to the start_

_To break the pattern forming between us..._

[ [epigraph](https://youtu.be/RWrqlDcn5TU) [from](https://youtu.be/qJhjfdVpkYc) ; [courbevoie,](http://france.world-estate.com/ENG/House/For_sale/_COURBEVOIE_we5172914.html) [paris](https://www.google.com/maps/place/Les+Estudines+Courbevoie+Colline+de+l%27Arche/@48.895825,2.2365887,16.5z/data=!4m13!1m7!3m6!1s0x47e66502128aae1f:0x9dce86817f537c!2sGrande+Arche+de+la+Defense!3b1!8m2!3d48.8925978!4d2.2361121!3m4!1s0x0000000000000000:0x4f470e78033a1220!8m2!3d48.8984068!4d2.2332542); [kalideres,](https://www.google.com/maps/place/Kalideres,+West+Jakarta+City,+Special+Capital+Region+of+Jakarta,+Indonesia/@-6.1593138,106.7024614,15.73z/data=!4m5!3m4!1s0x2e6a02a65782c999:0xe29088fa56313d07!8m2!3d-6.1342937!4d106.7057733?hl=en) [jakarta](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timeline_of_Jakarta#Prior_to_19th_century) ; [arequipa,](https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bas%C3%ADlica_Catedral_de_Arequipa) [peru](https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plaza_de_Armas_de_Arequipa) ]

2.

_November 21, 2016_

_Third Quarter_

The waning moon was rising over Courbevoie, Paris. Luke eyed it as his team trooped up the metro steps. The Paris air was still, and smelled of diesel and decaying leaves. They crossed the dirty brick plaza, the Grande Arche de la Defense looming overhead, and headed over the cement bridge. Alec flanked Luke, bow in hand, followed by Jace; Lily Chen, the vampire, strode behind, and Maia brought up the rear.

They descended into the residential quarter—brick rowhouses with wrought iron railings and quaint ivy. A shimmer. Under the city’s scents of smoke and decay, Luke smelled something else.

“Do you see that?” Alec muttered behind him. He pointed.

Luke looked closer. A shimmer. There, where it had been all along, like a word on the tip of your tongue, was another house. Hidden by a glamor. But no ivy grew on its brick walls. Instead, it was spidered with symbols.

“Runes,” said Luke. “I recognize them...”

“From where?” said Maia from behind.

“Well, they look like Iron Sisters runes,” Luke said, frowning. There was one on the door he couldn’t make out. “But that’s impossible.”

“There have been Sisters who have left the order,” Jace pointed out. “Who were excommunicated.”

“That’s true,” said Luke. His eyes were still on the door. “Alright. Jace, Alec, with me, we’re going in. Lily, Maia, I need you around back. On the off chance that’s how Valentine decides to escape.”

Luke knew they objected to being teamed up at the last mission, in L.A., but what could he say? He thought they would work well together.

But it was Jace who opened his mouth uncomfortably. “Uh, Luke,” he said. “Are you sure I shouldn’t be on patrol duty? I’m not the most... unbiased. If we see Valentine in there...”

“I hope we do,” said Luke, looking Jace in the eye. “And if we do, Jace, I trust you.”

Jace looked back at Luke like he was both flattered, and felt sorry for him.

“Okay, move out,” said Luke, nodding to the girls. Lily melted into the dark, and Maia gave Luke a last look before following. Alec nocked an arrow, and Jace raised his seraph blade. Luke squared his shoulders, and led the way.

As they approached, the rune on the door came into view. It was a protective rune, an _ancient_ protective rune—Luke couldn’t believe he recognized from his shadowhunter training a lifetime ago—but painted on top of it was another rune, an enchantment breaker in slick red.

Blood.

They entered quietly. Inside the apartment was cold and dark, like a cave. The smell of blood grew stronger, mixed with the smells of wood and herbs. Luke could barely see a thing. But he could hear—labored breathing, and a voice murmuring.

“...this one?”

“I will never... help you,” said a weak voice. “Just kill me.”

“So it is this one,” said the other voice.

Luke knew that voice. He looked over his shoulder at Alec and jerked his head. Alec nodded, understanding, and moved off to case the rest of the apartment. Then he nudged jace and together they moved forward.

From the other room there was a _crack_ , then rustling. Luke’s heart was racing. It had been years, so many years—but that voice had not changed.

They stopped in the doorway. Valentine’s back was to them, and on the floor, in a pool of blood, a gray-haired woman lay on her stomach. The smells of blood and sweat and adrenaline hit Luke and he swallowed. He signaled Jace to stay put. Then he stepped into the room.

Valentine whipped around, eyes flashing. Whatever he’d stolen had vanished into his jacket, and he was soaked in blood. His eyes met Luke’s.

“Lucian,” Valentine said, smiling toothily. Luke’s heart sped up at his old name, in his old friend’s mouth. “How nice to see you.”

“Valentine,” said Luke.

“I was just talking about you to a mutual friend,” said Valentine, gesturing between them. “Jocelyn Morgenstern. You remember her?”

“Jocelyn Fairchild,” Luke corrected automatically.

“Wrong,” said Valentine. “No matter how far she runs, or how long she hides, her _real_ name—”

Luke didn’t have time for this. “Valentine, we have the place surrounded. Surrender now, or we’ll take you by force.”

Valentine’s smile widened. “Force?” he said, almost laughing. “As if _your_ kind could ever overcome my—”

Luke leapt forward, needing no more encouragement. His former parabatai stepped aside easily. He landed a blow on Luke’s exposed stomach, and Luke doubled over. He grabbed Valentine’s arm and kicked, catching Valentine’s ankle. Valentine stumbled, and Luke twisted him around. He wrapped his arm around Valentine’s throat, holding the shadowhunter’s other arm behind him. Valentine huffed and spat, just like all the uncooperative perps Luke had ever given the chokehold.

But most criminals didn’t dabble in blood magic.

In a burst of strength, Valentine threw his arms out, breaking Luke’s grip. He spun around and slipped free. Luke whirled around, but Valentine was already gone. He heard a shout in the hallway—Jace—and rushed out. Jace was on the floor, pale but unharmed.

“Are you alright?” Luke asked breathlessly.

“He got—” Jace began.

“Let him go,” said Luke, offering Jace a hand up. “Someone else needs our help.”

*  *  *

“Anything?”

Maia heard Lily speak before she stepped into the light. Maia, standing in the back garden’s harsh floodlight, shook her head. The garden smelled like dead flowers and cigarettes, and was empty.

“Just the one door, though,” Maia said, jerking her head at the sliding glass door. “Only one exit.”

“There could be a side exit,” Lily said, leaning against the brick wall.

“The houses are attached together,” Maia said, folding her arms.

Lily shrugged “He’ll probably vanish anyway, like he always does,” she said. “Disapparate or whatever.”

Maia did not hide her eyeroll. Lily was incredibly annoying. The same arrogance and laziness of every vampire she’d ever met. _Immortals_. Nothing bothered people who had all the time in the world.

“We’d better hide anyway,” Maia said. “In case he comes out.”

Lily shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I do say so,” said Maia. “And try to hold in the dramatic sighs, okay? We don’t want everyone in Paris to know we’re here.”

“If _you_ don’t knock anything over,” retorted Lily, jabbing her finger into Maia’s arm. “Clumsy werewolf.”

Maia recoiled from her finger. “Don’t touch m—”

There was a crash and the patio door swooshed open. Valentine himself burst out, covered in blood, bald head gleaming, flying down the steps and across the patio. Maia leapt forward without hesitation, but he was fast—already through the gate and into the alley. Maia tore after him, out the gate—she was faster.

Claws out, she leapt for his back. Her claws sank right into his back and he toppled. He cried out, twisting and rolling out from under her. Her claws dragged his flesh, tearing it, but he pulled away and to his feet.

She scrambled up and braced herself, whole body shaking, but he was just looking at her. Panting. Teeth bared, blood all over.

_Valentine Morgenstern._

There were no thoughts in Maia’s head as he stared at her. Just mute, heels-dug-into-the-ground waiting, waiting for what he would do to her. No moment existed before this one, and whatever future crouched ahead, she could not meet its eye.

His bared teeth widened to a grin.

“See you soon, Maia Roberts.”

Maia, frozen, watched as he turned and ran. Her legs started on their own, running after him, but he rounded a corner and when she got there, he was gone.

“Maia!” came a voice.

He was gone. She’d lost him. He was gone. He hadn’t hurt her. He was gone.

“Maia? Maia—”

It was Lily. She was rushing up behind Maia, who found that she was on her knees in the cobblestone alley. Lily crouched down next to her. “Are you okay?”

Maia’s head nodded.

“What happened?” Lily said. “Did he hurt you? Where’d he go?”

Maia shook her head. There was a pile of garbage in this corner of the alley—a shopping cart, a rotten chest of drawers, a mirror. She was staring at the mirror. She couldn’t see her reflection in it.

“Maia, we should...” Lily began, and put her hand on Maia’s arm. Her stomach twisted.

She yanked her arm away. “ _Don’t_ touch me,” she said again, her voice hoarse. “Is that really so hard?”

“Sorry,” said Lily. “I was just trying to help you u—”

“I don’t need your help!” Maia said. She got to her feet. “I need to know what Valentine is after and how he vanished into thin air!”

Her voice rang from the alley walls. She was shouting, she realized. But she couldn’t help it. She felt sick to her stomach, like a balloon with the air rushing out. She wanted to be alone, somewhere else, a shower, she wanted to be in the woods—not here. It was all Valentine’s fault. She felt the pressure building up again and she lashed out, kicking a trash can. It rang like a drum.

Lily was standing, dusting herself off. She didn’t say anything, just watched Maia. Maia choked back bile and kicked again, denting the trash can. She didn’t feel better, she just felt tired. She kicked it once more anyway. Then she let her hands fall at her side.

“Should we go get Luke?”

“Okay,” said Maia.

Lily led the way back to the apartment. Maia’s balloon of rage was deflating, replaced with embarrassment. She glanced at Lily as they reached the patio.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Lily. She was sniffing her hand—she’d gotten some blood on it from Maia’s sleeve. Her nose wrinkled. “Gross.”

“I thought vampires liked shadowhunter blood,” Maia said.

“Normally, it’s delicious,” said Lily, flicking her hand. “But this smells... rancid.”

She shook her hand more vigorously. Maia frowned.

“I’ll stand guard out here,” Lily said, still trying to get the blood off. “You go talk to Luke.”

Inside the apartment was cool and dark. Voices murmured in the next room. It smelled like books and old boats, somehow, that salty, old wood smell—and the smell of blood. Maia tried to breathe, but her lungs were still pumping. The scents were overwhelming her werewolf nose. She pulled her shirt up over her face.

Maia moved through the obscurity towards the voices:

“...it was...”

“What did he want?” _Luke_.

“The... adamas of course...” said the raspy, unfamiliar voice. Maia found them in the low-lit parlor. Sure enough, blood everywhere. Luke and Jace Wayland were crouched beside a woman on the floor. She was bleeding out from her legs—it looked like Valentine had slashed her femoral arteries. The pool was growing quickly, and the honeyed smell of it almost made Maia gag. She breathed slowly through her shirt, filling her lungs with her own warm air and the smell of the makeup on her neck. _It’s a good thing Lily stayed outside_ , she thought.

“And did he take it?” Jace demanded.

“No,” she said. “I don’t... have any.”

Luke and Jace exchanged looks.

“But... he did take... he took the...” The woman feebly raised her arm, but it dropped. Her head hit the wooden floor with dull finality. She was dead.

Luke sighed. He put his arm gently around her neck, lifting her head, and closed her eyelids. He murmured something over her, something in another language, then carefully lowered her back down. He stayed kneeling for a second next to her body. Maia’s heart twinged for her leader.

“What’s going on?” said a deep voice behind her. She jumped, and turned. Alec Lightwood.

“She died,” said Maia, her voice muffled from inside her shirt.

“Great,” he said. “Well the house is a mess, like it got searched. But no one else is here.”

“Is she an Iron Sister, or whatever?”

“Former Iron Sister,” said Luke’s voice. He was standing up. “Excommunicated.” He pointed at her arm. “That’s what those runes mean. What happened, Maia? Did you and Lily find something?”

Maia straightened and let her shirt drop from her face. “Yes,” she said. “We saw Valentine. He came out the back door, and I attacked him—” she held up her hands, still stained with his ‘rancid’ blood “—but he escaped to the back alley and went around a corner and, like, disapparated.”

Luke smiled at the reference. “Good to know. We need to figure out what Valentine took. All we know is it wasn’t adamas, and that the Sister pointed over there.” He gestured at the outer wall of the parlor. “Let’s see what we can find. Maia, is Lily still out back?”

“Yes.”

“Go get her and send her in, I need to talk to her. Replace her out back and keep watch.” Maia nodded. “And we need someone to send a fire-message to the Iron Sisters to ask if they know which former Sister lived in Courbevoie, and what they know about her, and why she left the Sisterhood.”

“I can do that,” said Alec.

“Great. Jace, you and I will search these shelves. Anything unusual.”

Jace was chewing his fingernail. “Yeah,” he said, as if returning from a daydream. “Will do.”

Outside, Maia sat on the brick steps, hugging her knees. That was Valentine. Valentine. The whole thing had taken no more than a moment—but if anyone knew the impact of a single moment, it was Maia.

_See you soon, Maia Roberts..._

A few minutes later, the door slid open again.

“Hey,” said Luke.

Maia looked up at him, and smiled tightly.

“Did you guys find anything?” she asked.

“We’re pretty sure we know what he took—an ancient spellbook. Magnus is going to do some magical examination,” said Luke, sitting down next to her.

Maia nodded up at him. There was a pause.

“Was that the first time you’ve seen Valentine?”

“First time in eighteen years,” confirmed Luke with a tight nod.

“And?” said Maia.

Luke shrugged. Maia could feel a lot not being said in that shrug.

“Same old Valentine,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

Maia shrugged.

“You did good. There was no way to stop him disappearing, but you still tackled him. You went up against Valentine Morgenstern. Not a lot of people can say that.”

Maia shrugged. “I just followed your training.”

Luke folded his arms and smiled. “You were very brave. Even if it hadn’t been Valentine... I know this isn’t easy for you, Maia. Against any enemy. But you did it. You fought.”

Luke’s steady eyes bored into hers. Maia shifted. She didn’t feel any pride at overcoming a handicap she shouldn’t have in the first place—but at least she had done it.

“Yeah,” she finally managed. “Thanks.” She swallowed. “And thanks for trusting me enough to come on these missions, even though I’m still so... green.”

Luke smiled warmly. “Of course, Maia. I want you to know I have confidence in you. I hope it’ll help you build confidence in yourself.”

Maia wrapped her arms around her knees again, looking up at the moon—waning gibbous—and Luke sat next to her. He never tried to hug her or even pat her arm, which she appreciated. He just smiled at her one more time, then stood and retreated inside. Maia sat on the steps, watching the moon rise higher and higher.

*  *  *

_Jace will come round. He just needs some time._

Clary repeated Alec’s words to herself as Jace walked into the weapons room, not looking at her, as she did every time she saw her brother. It was the day after the Paris mission, and she had spent it training with Izzy and Alec. She hadn’t seen Jace since the mission, and even then, they had been on different teams again. Clary wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. Time apart, for Jace to think things over, was good. But time working together, building a new relationship—siblings—that would be good too.

Clary looked over at Jace, who had sat down at the other table and begun cleaning some kind of shadowhunter weapon she didn’t recognize. She was practicing her 2D to 3D power, at another table in the weapons room. She had considered going over to ask him what he was doing, but his willingly staying in the same room as her, even without speaking, was progress. Best not to push it.

It was taking all her deepest reserves of patience to stay steady on this. Clary wanted to run over there and shake Jace’s shoulders, demand that he talk to her, _make_ him understand that talking was the only way to work out the issues. But he hadn’t been raised like that—like how their mother had raised her. However emotionally stunted Valentine’s parenting had left him, Jace needed the time that he needed. Clary understood this, with her head. But her heart cried out impatiently. It was killing her, leaving things unresolved like this. Clary squeezed her eyes shut. The drinking glass she had just raised from graphite collapsed back into the page.

_What would Mom do?_ she asked herself, yet again. The woman who left her life behind, who stayed in hiding, who held her entire terrible history inside herself for eighteen years, to keep her daughter not only alive but happy, stable and normal and healthy—that woman would be compassionate. She would not make her discomfort someone else’s discomfort. She would not force a discussion someone wasn’t ready to have. She would wait until they were both ready, and then build a relationship together.

She would wait.

Clary took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She focused on the glass, flat on the paper. She reached her hand into that two-dimensional space, felt it pass through the plane of the page, and closed her fingers around the drinking glass. Then she pulled it out, and set it on the table. She smiled.

“Nice,” said a voice. She looked up. Jace was watching from his table.

Clary’s heart leapt. “Th—thanks!” she said.

Jace nodded, then turned back around in his seat. Clary looked at the three-dimensional glass, and smiled. She felt a rush of gratitude for this power, something that bridged her old life as an artist with her new life as a shadowhunter; and a power that connected her to her mother.

But it was by no means the most valuable thing her mother had passed on to her.

*  *  *

Magnus had long thought of himself as a house. Sure, he lived in houses, or apartments or the occasional condo, but they were all temporary. He was permanent—redecoratable, but permanent. He was his own home.

Sometime around when he left Indonesia, after a few years of drifting between homes, he had decided to settle internally, settle within himself. Magnus knew he would never stay happy in one place for long—even if he weren’t immortal. That was just his nature. Restless. So he’d begun building a home that wasn’t physical. He pictured his life—the things he had done, the places he had known, the people he had loved and hated—as a grand old house. Memories like rooms he could move through and reminisce. Habits and tendencies he could renovate. This house idea was mostly abstract, and he had never shared it aloud with anyone; but at night, trying to fall asleep, Magnus would wander the halls inside himself. Blow the dust off memories of people, places. Sometimes it was lonely. Sometimes it was comforting. Sometimes it was both.

This afternoon found him in Central Park with Alec, watching mundanes soak up some of the last sunlight of the year. Alec leaned against an oak tree, and Magnus was lying perpendicular to him, with his legs over Alec’s. He was filing his nails. Alec was drumming his fingers absently on Magnus’s shin. In the field in front of them, a group of mundanes was playing a frisbee game. They were talking about the cup.

“So how _does_ the vault work?” Alec was asking. “You designed the enchantment, right?”

“Yes,” said Magnus, filing his index fingernail. “It’s a set of spells, I... wove them together. With plenty of help, of course.” He began filing his thumbnail. “But as to how it works, well... the details are need-to-know.”

Alec’s fingers stopped drumming. “Need-to-know?” he said.

“That’s right,” said Magnus, smiling coyly. “I don’t think you really _need_ to know, Alexander.”

“Oh really?” said Alec. His hand wrapped around Magnus’s leg, squeezing his calf gently. He moved his hand up towards Magnus’s knee, squeezing harder. “Because I think I do _need..._ to know...”

Magnus squirmed, sitting up. “Alexander,” he said, trying to retain composure. “Are you just... using me for information?”

Alec’s fingers reached his knee. “Absolutely,” said Alec.

He squeezed. Magnus’s laugh burst out in a shriek. The spot above his knee was incredibly ticklish.

“Fine!” cried Magnus, laughing. “You got me. I’ll talk.”

Alec chuckled, patting Magnus’s knee fondly. Magnus laid back down and resumed filing his nails.

“There are twelve shards of the cup that the Clave still has,” Magnus explained. “All twelve are stored in a vault, which is highly guarded. Any attempt to open the door, or portal inside it, or portal anywhere within fifteen feet of it, triggers an alarm and a freezing spell. Anyone who tries it will be paralyzed immediately, and arrested shortly thereafter.” Magnus appraised his nails. “This vault is under the senate floor in Idris. Or rather, the vault _appears_ to be in the senate basement.” He raised his eyebrows at the sky, still looking at his nails. “The image of the vault is projected there at all times. But it actually changes locations every half hour.” Magnus switched hands and began filing his other hand. “It jumps from various secure locations in various Institutes’ safe houses around the globe, in random order; it’s back in the Senate basement a few times a day, but the image remains projected there, even when it’s someplace else.”

“What about the map?” said Alec. “Your map says the pieces are always in Idris.”

Magnus examined his ragged ring fingernail. “I rigged it,” he said. “The tracking dots in Idris are fake. That map only tracks the missing ones, so that it seems like the Clave pieces are always at home.” He propped himself up on his elbows to look at his boyfriend. “In all seriousness, Alec, you can’t tell anyone about this. The protective spells are powerful, but standard, and everyone who helped set it up knows those. But only a handful of Clave officials, myself, and one other warlock know about the location shift.”

Alec nodded. “You got it,” he said. “I won’t say a word.”

Magnus smiled and resumed his nail filing.

“In all, a near-foolproof hiding place, until the Clave gets the other four shards and repairs the cup.”

“So they _can_ repair it?”

“I believe so,” said Magnus. “It’s never been done, but everything I’ve read says it’s possible.”

“And how are they going about finding the other four pieces?” Alec asked. “Do you know?”

Magnus moved his head noncommittally. “Not in detail. I’ve heard about different undercover missions. They’re using their intelligence apparatus, basically. Dubious back room, underground dealings. What the Clave does best.”

Alec smiled humorlessly. His eyes had drifted to the mundanes’ game, where the frisbee had gotten stuck in a pine tree.

“You seem worried,” said Magnus. “You know it isn’t your fault, right? That the cup is broken? It would be completely in Valentine’s possession if it weren’t for you.”

Alec’s eyes snapped back to his. “I know,” he said. “I don’t regret it. But I am worried. About the future.”

Magnus nodded. Alec’s hands were resting gently on his legs, no longer jittery.

“Well,” said Alec after a pause, “I’d better get going. We could have another mission tomorrow, if Valentine has recovered from his wounds.”

Magnus sat up, drawing his legs off of Alec. “You don’t want to get dinner?” he said. “I could cook you something, back at the loft.”

Alec glanced over, meeting his eyes. “Not tonight.” He cracked a knuckle. “Sorry.”

Magnus was trying not to show his disappointment. Alec was the inexperienced one here—he had to let him take the lead.

“No, don’t worry,” said Magnus, waving a hand. “Do you want a portal home?”

“That’s alright,” said Alec, sitting up too. “I’ll take the train.”

“Well, text me tomorrow. If there’s no mission, we can get together. There’s a farmer’s market I’ve been meaning to take you to.”

Alec stood, smiling. “That sounds fun.”

He held out a hand and Magnus took it. His boyfriend pulled him to his feet. His eyes flicked down to Magnus’s lips, then back up to his eyes. Then back down. Magnus felt the less-than-a-second thrill as Alec’s face descended towards his, his eyelids fluttering shut and his lips parting, and then they kissed. Magnus sighed against his lips, wanting to wrap his arms around the shadowhunter, hold him close. But Alec was already pulling away.

He squeezed Magnus’s hand, then let go—but Magnus held on.

“Are you sure everything’s alright, Alexander?”

Alec looked at him. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s—it’s nothing.”

“If it wasn’t nothing, would you tell me?” said Magnus.

Alec nodded.

Magnus squeezed his hand and let go. With a last smile, Alec left.

Magnus trusted his boyfriend. If he said it was nothing, it probably was. It was a stressful time. Wasn’t it always?

*  *  *

_December 1, 2016_

_Waxing Crescent_

“You’re sure it’s this one?”

They were standing, glamoured, outside an antique shop. A mundane antique shop, as far as they could tell.

Magnus looked at his map again. “According to my tracking, yes. This building.”

“I’m not picking up any magic signals,” said Mayrse.

“Me neither,” confessed Magnus.

“Is anyone else?” Mayrse asked. She turned, raising her eyebrows at the rest of the team—Maia, Alec, and Clary. They were standing in the sunny street in Kalideres, Jakarta, looking at a tiny antique shop sandwiched between a corner store and a Mito cell service shop. The corrugated metal roofs gleamed in the sun, sending ripples of heat into the air above. Motorcycles passed behind them, and a block away, they could hear the river.

Everyone shook their heads. Mayrse turned around again, looking frustrated.

“Magnus, you can sweep it. Take Clary. We won’t fit in there all at once.”

Magnus looked at Clary, who drew her seraph blade, and followed him through the door.

He snapped his fingers as they entered, lifting their glamours. It was indeed cramped—bowls and other kitchenware dominated the shelves, all looking very old. The only person inside was a woman as tiny and elderly as her store, sitting behind the counter. Clary lowered her blade. The shop owner looked up as they entered, and Magnus nodded at her and struck up a conversation. In Indonesian, Clary was pretty sure. _Magnus is from Indonesia, right?_ she thought. She wondered if the place he’d grown up was nearby.

Clary circled the table at the center of the room, trying case the joint covertly. There were no windows to escape out of or cabinets to hide in. There was absolutely no room to hide in here. Clary raised her eyes, trying to get a look at the back door next to the counter. It was ajar—and it was a broom closet. Definitely no Valentine in there.

She looked absently through a cardboard box full of small wooden figurines. Among the tiny animals, something caught her eye—an acorn? Clary picked it up. It was a carved wooden acorn, she saw, not a real one. Was this the—

“Ready to go?” said Magnus’s voice behind her.

“Yeah!” said Clary, dropping the acorn.

“You want to get something?” he asked.

“Um,” she said. “The tigers are cute,” she said.

“Sumatran tiger,” said Magnus, picking one up. “Smallest species of tiger. Highly endangered. They only live here now.”

Clary wondered if there had been more when Magnus was a kid, but she felt it might be rude to ask. “How much?” she said.

“Don’t worry about it, biscuit,” said Magnus, already walking to the counter. He paid for the tiger and the shop owner folded it into a tiny brown paper bag.

“Thanks Magnus,” said Clary when Magnus returned, handing her the little bag. “What did she say?”

“Interesting stuff,” said Magnus. “Not sure what to make of it yet. Come on.”

With a final thank-you to the shop owner, who nodded, Magnus led her back out into the sunlight. The world shimmered for a second, and Clary knew her glamour had been reactivated.

“Well?” said Mayrse. Maia was standing against the convenience store wall, in the shade, and Alec was standing next to his mother, shading his eyes from the sun.

“No Valentine inside,” said Magnus, “Obviously. But I talked to the owner. I asked if she had seen anything suspicious today, or in the last few weeks. She said a box of old furniture went missing this morning, but nothing of value. She did say, however, that some other antique and trinket shops in the area had been broken into recently, and a museum. Nothing stolen, but rustled up. She thinks someone was looking for something, but she doesn’t know what.”

“What could Valentine want with antique garbage?” Maia said from the shade. They all looked over at her, and she looked away.

“No idea,” said Magnus. Clary glanced at him, then at Alec, who was watching him. She thought of the acorn. For some reason, she thought Magnus might be lying about not having any idea.

Mayrse sighed. “Back to New York, then,” she said. “Before we all melt in this heat.”

“I prefer the heat,” Clary told Magnus once they started walking. Mayrse walked with her son, and Maia walked alone between the two pairs. “The fall is pretty, but now that the leaves are gone... it’s just depressing.”

“Hm. I like both,” replied Magnus. “Summer and warmth are renewing, but the winter is dark and bare. Heat is oppressive, but the cold makes me feel more... free. Death is but renewal.”

Clary thought of Simon at that—his new life as a vampire.

“So, you were speaking Indonesian?” asked Clary. “In the shop?”

“Betawi,” replied Magnus. “It’s a dialect of Indonesian,” he added, “the local dialect. A bit different now than the one I grew up with.”

Clary nodded.

“Are we near where you grew up?” Clary asked.

“Yes,” said Magnus. “Though it hardly feels like it anymore. It was called Batavia then, and it was mostly farmland. Now it’s, well.” He gestured around. “Not.”

“So you grew up on a farm?” said Clary. She smiled. “Hard to imagine, Magnus Bane, farming. Did you have cows?”

“Oh, I wasn’t Magnus Bane, back then,” he said, looking away with a wistful smile. “And no, no cows.”

*  *  *

_December 3, 2016_

_Waxing Crescent_

Alec was quiet that evening. It was the night after the Indonesia mission. Magnus had taken him to a gallery opening, then dinner, and he had been pleasant, but quiet. He moved like he was out of his body, mind in another place. Magnus, standing next to him on the crowded train, didn’t press. Maybe he would ask, maybe he wouldn’t. For now, he was content to share the silence.

Magnus, staring at the commuters around them, was thinking about his internal house again. It was rare, but sometimes, he invited people in. He would open a boarded up old room, dust it off and redecorate. These days, when he closed his eyes at night, he saw Alec. At home in his heart.

Reality was slowly moving to fulfill his half-asleep dreams. Alec was growing more accustomed to Magnus’s loft—he was moving through it less stiffly, more comfortably, finding and using items without feeling the need to ask, starting to favor a particular chair in the living room. This made Magnus feel happy, happy and connected. Alec, figuring out how to fit into his life.

Fitting into Alec’s was another matter. There was the problem of Mayrse, who was civil, but clearly upsetting her son with her coldness. This, with Robert’s cordiality and the Lightwood siblings’ secondhand awkwardness, set a frigid temperature for the Institute as a whole. Magnus had visited Alec there once or twice, but mostly, they steered clear of it.

They got off at Magnus’s stop and walked a few blocks, reached his door, and ascended the stairs. At last they reached his landing, and Magnus began to search for his keys. In the corner of his eye, Magnus saw Alec’s chest rise and fall. He felt Alec shift next to him. Somehow, he knew then that his boyfriend was back.

Alec, standing perpendicular beside Magnus’s shoulder, shifted an inch closer. Moving in parallel, Magnus rotated slowly, and Alec’s arm appeared. In a smooth motion, his hand was planted on the door and Magnus was trapped between it and Alec. He finished turning, facing Alec, looking up into his beautiful eyes, and smiled.

In a second, Alec’s mouth was on his and his back was against the wooden door. Alec kissed him hungrily, lips opening and closing, breath escaping. Magnus sighed, his hands sliding approvingly up Alec’s back, over the planes of fabric, and then down, and back up underneath his shirt. His hands ran across Alec’s skin, his now-familiar shoulderblades moving under Magnus’s fingers as Alec’s arms wrapped around the warlock. They pressed together more urgently, breath escaping from between their shifting bodies. Magnus pushed deeper into the kiss, his tongue tasting Alec’s lips, the faint taste of lemon, and—oh—Alec’s tongue. Alec’s hands tugged the back of Magnus’s shirt, un-tucking it and then sliding impatiently underneath. Magnus gasped despite himself, as Alec’s hands worked their way up his back. He sighed, tipping his head back, and Alec took advantage, kissing down his neck.

Magnus got ahold of himself long enough to snap his fingers and open the door. They burst inside, still wrapped around each other, and Magnus pressed Alec up against the wall of his small brick foyer. But even though Magnus had him against the wall, he still had to pull Alec’s head down to reach his lips. Alec laughed a murmuring laugh. Magnus couldn’t help it—he laughed too. Their lips broke apart, Alec dipping his head so their foreheads rested together, and grinned at Magnus. Magnus caught his breath, still chuckling, and rested his hand on Alec’s cheek. Stubbly. He gazed into his boyfriend’s hazel eyes. Alec looked back, his smile fading.

“Magnus, I want to ask you something.”

Magnus nodded, moving both their heads. “Of course.”

“Yesterday, in Jakarta...” Alec said. “When my mother asked, about the stolen items, you seemed to know, or, have some idea—” Alec broke off. “Was there something you didn’t tell her? Tell us?”

Magnus sighed. Alec had seen through him, somehow. “Nothing I know for certain,” he said. “I just... suspect. The area has changed a lot since my day, but that neighborhood of Jakarta is the place I grew up. I think it’s possible that... If Valentine found out about the vault, and that I was the one who enchanted it, he might... come after me.” He raised his head, breaking their forehead contact.

Alec’s brow was furrowed.

“Dig into my history, you know. Look for something to use against me. I guess it’s lucky that my parents’ farm is gone. I doubt there was anything left for Valentine to find.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” said Alec. He let his hands slide from Magnus’s shoulders.

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of a theory,” said Magnus. “And I... didn’t want you to worry.”

Alec shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the foyer wall. “Hm,” he said.

“But I don’t know anything else, really,” said Magnus. “I shouldn’t have lied, even to keep you from worrying.”

“You worry about me all the time,” muttered Alec.

He was looking at Magnus’s feet.

“Alec?”

“Yeah,” said Alec. He took a breath. “Yeah, Magnus, there was another thing wanted to, to talk about. Something else.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve been... thinking,” said Alec carefully. “You’re—”

Suddenly a tinny saxophone tune broke through the air. _“Talk dirty to me...”_

“Oh, bad timing,” said Magnus, fumbling for his phone. “Sorry about that...” He switched it off. “You were saying?”

Alec opened his mouth, but there was another loud buzz—from Alec’s pocket. Their eyes met, all the tension and distance of the moment swallowing into a single glance.

Alec picked up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Peru.” Magnus was standing close enough to hear Jace’s voice through the phone. “We’re leaving in ten minutes. Put some clothes on and get over here, both of you.”

Alec’s mouth opened for a second, then he folded one arm under his other elbow. “I’m fully clothed, Jace,” he said. He hung up.

Magnus’s face was screwed up uncomfortably.

“Did he say Peru?”

“Yeah,” said Alec, putting his phone away. “Do you need to get anything?”

“Actually...” Magnus clasped and unclasped his hands. “I can’t come.”

Alec looked up at him. He frowned.

“I’m not... allowed into Peru,” said Magnus. “Lifetime ban.”

“So, eternal ban,” said Alec.

Magnus nodded.

“Well I’ll fill you in when we get back,” Alec said, starting to button his coat. “Would you mind portaling me to the Institute?”

Magnus clasped his hands again. “You’re going?”

Alec stopped buttoning. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Do they need you? You went on the last one, not everyone did—shouldn’t you have, I don’t know, a night off?”

Alec frowned. “Shadowhunters don’t really get nights off,” he said. “Don’t worry, we’ll—we’ll finish our conversation. Later.”

Magnus unclasped his hands. For some reason he felt unable to touch his boyfriend, even his arm. “That’s not what I’m worried about,” he said, sighing. “I’m just... worried.”

He started waving his hands, conjuring up the portal.

“About me?” said Alec. He finished buttoning. “Magnus, I went on lots of missions without you before we met. I’ll be okay for one night. Don’t worry about me.”

“Easier said than done,” said Magnus.

He finished the portal, and looked at Alec. The shadowhunter’s jaw was clenched. The distance between them seemed vast, when just a moment ago it had been zero.

“Good luck,” said Magnus.

“Thanks,” said Alec. He stepped through the portal, leaving Magnus, standing alone in his foyer.

*  *  *

There was no efficient public transport in Arequipa, a mountain city in Southern Peru. Most people didn't even have cars—everyone just traveled by cab. It was the city in the world with the most taxis per capita, Raj had explained, pressing some Peruvian soles into Alec’s hand. That was how he ended up jammed in a taxicab with Luke, rocketing through the low-lit city around midnight.

They found Simon and Clary waiting in front of the cathedral.

“Hey,” said Luke.

“Hey,” they said in unison.

The four of them waited in front of the cathedral, watching the Plaza de Armas. It was a riot of pigeons and palm trees, interspersed with people and food carts. It was late spring here—the air was warm. The others chatted, but Alec stood silent. He was thinking about Magnus.

After a few moments, Jace, Lily, and Maia arrived.

“Hey,” said Maia.

“Hey,” said Jace.

“The clock is wrong,” said Lily.

Everyone looked at her.

“Look...” She pointed. They turned. “The number four.”

Alec squinted at the clock tower.

“It’s four _I_ s,” said Lily. “It should be _IV_. Not four _I_ s.”

Everyone looked back at her.

Lily shrugged. “I thought it was funny.”

Alec saw her glance at Maia. The werewolf was suppressing a smile.

“Okay,” said Alec. “My team on the roof. Let’s go.”

Jace, Maia, and Lily followed him to a service ladder and climbed up. Alec arrived first and looked around, cracking his knuckles. He could see the moon above the mountains. A bit past new moon, he thought, folding his arms.

He was still annoyed from the talk with Magnus—both at it being interrupted, and at Magnus. The immortality issue was going to eat him from the inside out. He _needed_ to talk to Magnus about it, and soon.

Jace’s head appeared at the edge of the roof. Alec watched him pull himself up.

And something else was bothering him—something about the way Magnus had avoided telling Alec he was in possible danger, just because he didn’t want to ‘worry’ Alec. And then, in almost the same breath, had tried to stop Alec from going on a perfectly routine mission, because he was worried about _him_.

Maia appeared, pulling herself up with gritted teeth. It wasn’t the lie of omission that bothered him, not exactly. Alec knew there was probably no way to stop Magnus from worrying, and he knew there was _definitely_ no way to stop himself worrying. He was a professional worrier. But Magnus had sort of, taken the responsibility away from Alec, in a way? Alec wasn’t sure. He just felt unsettled. They needed to have a talk.

Lily. The vampire rose, dusting herself off, and looked at Alec with disinterested eyes. He unfolded his arms. Time to focus.

Jace turned on his witchlight and they silently gathered round. Alec gestured, delineating the pairs. Jace with Lily, Maia with him. Jace made a face at him. Lily and Maia exchanged looks, then Lily looked back at Alec. Maia rolled her eyes. Alec waved his hands in an “everybody shut the hell up” motion.

“Fine, we’ll go alone,” hissed Alec. “Maia, that door, Lily, that one, Jace, there, and I’ll go there. We meet back at the altar. Questions? Comments?”

Jace gave him a “chill, dude” look. Alec ignored this. The other two shook their heads, and with a last nod, they dissolved.

The church roof was large and flat, with five entrances—one in each corner, one in the center. Alec was taking the center. Bringing his partner would have probably been safer, but Jace was being annoying today.

Alec opened his door and slipped inside. The staircase within was hardly larger than a chimney. The stairs and the wood paneling were painted a weird, pastel shade of yellow. Alec crept down as quietly as he could, but the stairs creaked, despite the silent rune on Alec’s feet. He cursed Valentine for picking such an ancient church.

He reached the first landing and paused. A stained glass window lit the landing, the moonlight turning the yellow wall a moldy green. Alec listened. Silence.

Alec continued down, his heart beating an uneven tattoo against his ribs. Just another landing, another stained glass window. This one had a stained glass Jesus, struggling under the weight of the cross.

He listened again. Silence.

Alec kept creeping downward. His skin was prickling. He drew his bow. The next landing had another window, not stained glass this time—he looked out, and saw shrubs blocking the view. He must be on the ground floor.

He descended another flight of stairs and at last, there was a door. Was this the basement? There was no window to light this landing. Alec fumbled in his pocket, breathing labored. Not from climbing, but from tension. So many missions—not hide nor hair of Valentine. Why should this time be any different?

Alec drew the unlock rune, taking deep breaths. The old wooden stairwell creaked around him. He would search behind this door, then report back to the team. The wooden stairwell creaked behind him.

Something pricked his arm.

Alec whipped around, fist first. His knuckles collided with a jaw and someone grunted. His other arm seared. The figure behind him sprung back and a hand flew towards him. Alec tried to sidestep, but the space was too narrow—the fist hit his sternum and he gasped. He put his hands on either end of his bow and threw it forward, catching his attacker by the back of the neck. With the bow, he yanked his attacker forward and spun them around, switching their places. The attacker grunted, and uppercutted him in the stomach. Alec doubled over, biting back a cry, and kicked the attacker in the legs. It was too dark and close to aim, but his feet made contact with what felt like a knee. The attacker reeled back against the door, and Alec, raising his head, caught sight of something thin and glittering in their hand. Alec rubbed his arm.

The figure surged forward again and Alec was ready. He stepped up one stair, and brought his fist down on the attacker’s skull. They buckled, and Alec kicked his knee up, hitting them square in the chest. They flew back, and smashed into the door with a _crack_.

Alec hurried forward to make sure they were out. His own mouth was bleeding and his arm was aching, like a nasty mosquito bite. The attacker lay on their back, neck bent, unmoving. A hood covered their face. Alec crouched, blood still rushing in his ears. Was that a syringe—?

Suddenly, he heard a rumbling. Alec jumped back to his feet. It was coming from behind the basement door. Alec reached for an arrow, drawing his bow. The door was rattling. The lock was shaking. He nocked the arrow and aimed, heart pounding. The door slammed open.

A shrieking scream filled the stairwell. The figure was a blur of dead-flesh white and bone-colored teeth, and it roared at him. Alec loosed an arrow but he couldn’t tell mouth from limb—he had no idea where it landed. He nocked another, but it was already on top of him.

Everything went white.

*  *  *

_Find a thread to pull, and we can watch it unravel_

_But this is just the start—_

_We'll find out who we are._


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey folks! Sorry this one is a day late!! I was preoccupied last night and completely forgot what day of the week it was. 
> 
> Here is chapter three. some violence and again, discussions of abuse. also, one of my dearest headcanons--foulmouthed jace. I'm also compiling the chapter songs into a playlist, so that should be on 8tracks soon! and chapter four is coming on Monday (for real this time). thanks again for reading.

_Face stained in the ceiling_

_Why does it keep saying,_

_I don't have to see you right now_

_I don't have to see you right now_

[ [epigraph from](https://youtu.be/mN-CqIytN2U) ; [krestovsky island](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Krestovsky_Island#Rasputin), [saint petersburg](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/99/Metro_St_Petersburg.svg), [russia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Execution_of_the_Romanov_family#Execution) ]

3.

A tinny saxophone riff jolted Magnus from a doze. He picked up. “How did it go, darling?” he said sleepily.

“Hey, Magnus. It’s—”

“Jace?” Magnus frowned. “Why do you have Alec’s phone?”

“Listen. Don’t freak out,” said Jace’s tinny voice. “We were in Peru...”

Magnus sat up. “What happened.”

“We’re back at the Institute, you can come. You should come.” Jace’s words rushed out. “They, they say they can heal him, but he’s in—”

Magnus hung up. He was on his feet. He scanned the loft slowly—what did he need? His healing supplies? A coat? None of that mattered. His feet were moving. He was in the foyer. He was focused, he was opening a portal. His heart was thumping—not fast, but loud. Very loud. The air shimmered and danced before him, and Magnus stepped through it. He didn’t picture the destination—there was only one thought in his head.

_Alec._

_*   *   *_

“Magnus? Magnus?” Jace looked at the phone—the warlock had hung up. _Christ,_ he thought.

Jaw set, he looked over at the lobby, where they were swarming around Alec. It was all Jace could do not to fireman carry Alec to the infirmary himself, to swat away all those stupid assholes, but they were doctors, experts. Jace knew he couldn’t help, and he knew what Alec would want:

“Magnus.”

The warlock had hung up on him not five seconds ago, and was already coming out of the front door portal. Jace stepped forward, arm out.

The warlock looked right through him, at the churning crowd in the lobby. The writhing figure in the center. He started walking.

“Magnus, wait,” Jace said.

Magnus, eyes locked on Alec, drove forward, towards the lobby. Jace moved backwards, arms out, trying to block his path. He had to stop the warlock, but he knew better than to touch him. Magnus’s face was stony, and, Jace saw, devoid of makeup. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and he had bedhead. For some reason, the sight of Magnus like this pierced Jace through the heart.

“Magnus, please. Don’t—” Magnus collided with Jace’s arm. “They know what they’re do—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” said Magnus, “touch me, shadowhunter.”

The lightbulb in the sconce next to them exploded.

Jace jumped, jerking his arm away. “Please stay back,” he said.

Magnus stopped moving, but his eyes flashed. They actually fucking flashed—they lit up yellow. Like lightning. Jace stepped back.

“What happened,” he asked. His voice was dangerously low.

“We don’t know,” Jace said. “I found him in a stairwell, bleeding and s—having a seizure. Screaming.” Jace swallowed. “He has bite marks, bite marks all over his chest and neck and arms. I don’t, I don’t know what bit him, but we called ahead and Mayrse called these healers. We literally just got back, and then I called you.” Magnus’s flashing eyes were still on the lobby. “The doctors or whatever, are trying to stop his seizure, but they—they’re having trouble getting him onto the stretcher.”

“Right,” said Magnus. He glanced at Jace for a second, then resumed walking.

“Magnus! You’ll only make it worse—” Jace flung his arm out, catching him. Magnus was shaking.

“I said don’t _touch me—_ ”

Jace gave up on talking. He wrapped both arms around the High Warlock of Brooklyn, half-dressed and fearsome.

“I can help,” Magnus said, struggling forward, voice ragged. “Let go of me, I can help!”

“No way,” said Jace, pushing him back with all his strength. “You’re emotionally compromised. Let the doctors do their job.”

“Let go of me, Jace,” said Magnus, voice breaking. His bids forward were weakening.

“There’s nothing we can do!” Jace said, pushing back. “We just have to wait! We just have to wait.”

Magnus stopped, chest still heaving. Jace gently lowered his arms. Magnus was still staring over his shoulder, and Jace turned to look into the lobby. Alec, too, had stopped struggling. The doctors were strapping him down, and lifting the stretcher. Jace felt Magnus’s hand land on his shoulder, gripping him for support. The doctors carried him out, leaving the other Lightwoods in their wake. Jace and Magnus stood in the hall outside the lobby, watching the family sob.

_*   *   *_

_November 4, 2016_

_Waxing Crescent_

Maia woke in an unfamiliar white vaulted room. She tensed, then her leg seared and she remembered—venom in the leg. That monstrous thing had slashed her on its way by. _This must be the Institute infirmary,_ she thought.

She sat up slowly and found that Luke was at the foot of her bed. He was reading something.

“Hey,” he said, looking up. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” said Maia, rubbing her temples. “Was I out for long?”

“You went into shock after you got fanged,” said Luke. “We brought you back here, they got most of the venom out and patched you up. It’s about 11 AM.”

“The next day?” said Maia.

“Yeah,” said Luke with a smile. “You were only out for about eight hours. A full night’s sleep.”

Maia smiled ruefully.

“How does it feel?”

“Sore,” said Maia. “Like a pulled muscle. Is everyone else okay?”

Luke’s smile faded. “Well,” said Luke. “Mostly. A lot of us got minor injuries, but some were a little worse, including you and Lily—”

“Is she okay?” said Maia.

“Yeah,” said Luke. He turned in his seat and pointed, and Maia saw a dark-haired figure sleeping in the bed next to hers. “She just got clocked in the head. She’ll be okay.”

Maia nodded, relieved, still looking at Lily. “And the others?” she said.

“Alec got hurt,” said Luke, pointing down the ward. “He was in bad shape when we brought him back last night, but the doctors worked on him. He’s a lot better this morning. They say he should pull through.”

“That’s good,” she said, looking at the figures gathered round Alec’s bed.

“Do you want anything?” Luke asked. “Food? Water?”

“I’m good, thanks,” said Maia.

She laid back on her pillow. Luke nodded and looked back at his book. The infirmary was clinically unwelcoming. It was a bare white hall with off-white sheets and almost-yellow fluorescents. Maia rubbed her neck reflexively, and felt the smudge of makeup there—there was still some there, even after a day. She could feel the slight bumps of her scar underneath. Maia looked at her leader, and his book. _A Study in Scarlet._

“Sherlock Holmes?” said Maia.

“Yeah,” said Luke, smiling. “Clary and Simon were talking about it last night. Reminded me I used to love these. I read them to Clary when she was in her mystery phase. Simon too sometimes—he was always around, you know.”

Maia smiled, though, inside, she felt an odd stab of envy. Those kids were so lucky to have Luke.

She looked over at the shadowhunters again, gathered around Alec’s bed. Maia barely knew him, but she liked him well enough. She wondered what it was like, being a gay shadowhunter, dating a downworlder. Double jeopardy with the parents, probably. She thought obliquely of her own parents and her own boyfriend. How little her parents had cared. How glad she’d been, at the time, for them to stay out of it. She did not miss them. But thinking about them was painful. It was almost like remembering someone else’s life. Thinking about her boyfriend, well...

“Luke,” she said, after a pause.

“Mhm?”

She sat up to look at him.

“Do you think you could ever forgive Valentine?”

Luke looked back at her. “No,” he said. “Even if he wasn’t a terrorist, terrible to his own children, and holding Jocelyn prisoner—he still turned me into a werewolf. I don’t regret or reject the life I have now but...” Luke shook his head. “He was my closest friend. He was my parabatai. And he betrayed me.”

Maia swallowed. He said it all so calmly, but Maia knew him now. She could feel the pain and strength roiling under his words.

“I trusted him with my life, and not only did he use that to hurt me, he shattered my capacity for trust. Trust of anyone. It’s taken me a long time to build that back up,” Luke said. “They say everyone deserves forgiveness but it’s not true. Not everyone does. Not him.”

She met Luke’s warm eyes, and her heart felt heavy. Maia nodded. He was right about Valentine, and she knew what else he was trying to tell her.

_*   *   *_

Clary was drawing in her sketchbook. A day had passed since the disastrous Peru mission. The halls of the Institute were quiet and Clary, whose injuries had been minor, was keeping to her room. She felt like an intruder on the family grief, or, the family holding its breath.

At some ungodly hour of the morning, Izzy had knocked on Clary’s door. Half blind with worry and exhaustion, Izzy had told her the prognosis was good. Draining the venom was proving difficult, but the healers from Idris were optimistic. Clary had nodded. “That’s good,” she’d said encouragingly. Izzy had burst into tears.

Clary now sat at her desk, drawing: somber landscapes, smoking mountains. It was late afternoon, and the sky outside her window was a humorless white-gray. Clary clicked her phone display (0 new texts) and looked at the date. November 5th. _Wow,_ she thought. And she thought unexpectedly of Christmas and her mom, and wondered if shadowhunters celebrated it. They lived in a church, sure, but with all they knew, religion seemed superficial.

Still, you don’t need religion for Christmas. She, her mother, and Luke never had. She looked down at the paper and saw that the mountains had become teeth, fangs piercing the cloudy sky. She tore the page out, crumpled it up,

Her phone dinged. _(1) new text_.

Luke [3:07 PM] _Hey Clary. How are you doing?_

She texted back right away.

Clary: [3:07 PM] _okay. you?_

Luke: [3:08 PM] _Good._ _I stopped by the institute earlier, but you were still asleep. They said everyone should make a full recovery, including alec._

Clary sighed with relief.

Clary: [3:08 PM] _thats great._

Luke: [3:09 PM] _you sure you’re okay, Clary?_

Clary: [3:09 PM] _yeah._

Clary: [3:10 PM] _i just really wish mom was here._

The dots danced for a long moment. Luke understood. He was the only person in the world who understood.

Luke: [3:12 PM] _i know._

Luke: [3:12 PM] _me too._

Luke: [3:12 PM] _Do you want to go somewhere? Get a coffee? Maybe sleep over my apartment for a few days, until everything’s back to normal?_

The thought of Luke’s apartment, without her mother, was unexpectedly painful. Clary shook her head.

Clary: [3:13 PM] _thanks - but i need to stay. for now._

Luke: [3:13 PM] _Ok. call or text if you want to talk. Okay?_

Clary: [3:14 PM] _will do. thanks luke <3_

Luke sent back a string of emojis: shooting star, puppy face, purple heart, car, green heart, bumblebee, yellow heart, coffee mug, blue heart, paint palette, pink heart, pink heart, pink heart. He had originally started using them to tease Clary, but now did so quite genuinely. She smiled at her phone, then buried her face in her hands.

She felt so helpless. Confused. What was there to do? She wanted to do something, but what? If not for Alec, for someone else? For herself? What did she want?

_To see Isabelle._

Clary left her room and made her way to the infirmary (Izzy was definitely still there). She was going to be strong, like her mom. Strong to help others.

The infirmary was built for wartime, but even now, in crisis mode, only three beds were occupied. Maia, frowning in her sleep; Lily, sitting up in the bed next to Maia’s, frowning at a paperback; and Alec, down at the end. Clary crossed the room, smiling politely at Lily, who took no notice.

“Hey, guys,” she said gently, reaching Alec’s bed.

Izzy looked up, and smiled. Her eyes were dry, but tired. Jace looked up too, and jumped to his feet. Magnus, on the other side, didn’t seem to notice.

“Clary. Here,” Jace said, gesturing at his chair. “You can sit.”

“Oh—” Clary said. “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” said Jace, glancing away. He shot a last look at Alec, and left the infirmary.

Clary watched him go, frowning. Izzy tugged her arm. “Don’t worry about him. Sit.”

Clary sat. “How’s it going? Luke told me he’s doing better.”

“Yes,” said Izzy, crossing her legs. “Better.”

“How are you?”

Izzy shrugged. “Okay. Slept,” she said. “Oh, and my probation is up today. Finally time for me to kick Valentine’s ass.”

Clary smiled. “Finally.”

She turned to look at Magnus.

“How are you, Magnus?”

The warlock was slouched in his chair, hands folded on his stomach. He didn’t reply; he seemed genuinely not to hear. Magnus looked awful. Not just the lack of silk and hair gel and makeup—his loss of composure rendered him almost unrecognizable. His eyes were bloodshot, and his expression was blank. It almost felt intrusive to look at him.

“Magnus?”

He looked up.

“Oh, hello,” he said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. “How are you, biscuit?”

_*   *   *_

“...are you, Magnus?”

A voice. A familiar voice.

“Magnus?” said the same voice, gently.

“Oh, hello,” said another familiar voice. Lilting, warm.

They were coming from down a hall, down a tunnel. The bottom of a basement staircase. The basement of the senate building. He was walking down, passing the guards—they didn't take any notice. He reached out to touch the vault—and his hand passed right through it. Was the vault insubstantial, or him? Only one way to find out. Alec stepped through the wall.

He passed right through it and found himself in a doorway at the bottom of a gaudy yellow stairwell. Oh, no. He recognized this place... but from where? There was a figure at his feet, at the bottom of the steps. It was twitching. And bleeding. Alec felt somehow that the body was his fault, like he had put it there.

Footsteps stamped down towards Alec and the convulsing body. “Alec?” hissed a voice.

“Yeah,” said Alec.

“Alec?” said the voice, coming closer. “You down here?”

“I’m here,” said Alec. “Jace?”

“Alec?” Jace appeared on the landing above. “Oh, god!”

Jace hurried down and dropped to his knees next to the twitching body.

“Oh fuck,” he said. “Oh fuck, fuck, fucking christ, I knew something was—Alec? _Alec?”_

Alec, standing above him, was confused. His foulmouthed parabatai didn’t notice him. Was... was _that_ him?

Jace was rolling the body over, supporting its head, and Alec saw, with mild concern, that it was indeed his own body. Blood was flowing from his mouth, spurting and spitting, and he was convulsing. His convulsions were getting stronger, and the blood—there was a lot of it.

“Oh, jesus,” said Jace. “Fuck! Alec, talk to me. What happened?”

Alec watched his own eyelids flutter open. They rolled back in his sockets, and the gargling in his throat got louder.

Jace was rolling up his sleeve, drawing on his iritzae.

“J—Jace,” spluttered Alec. “Th—the—”

The rune lit up. Alec screamed.

Alec, standing in the doorway, covered his own ears. Jesus, what a racket. He always made such a big deal out of nothing.

Jace wrapped his arms around Alec’s head, protecting it as the seizure racked his body, yelling for help. Alec only felt embarrassed. He turned, and walked out the door.

He found himself walking into the Institute’s infirmary. It was empty, except one occupied bed and one visitor, at the end of the room. He approached and saw, with detached interest, that the bed contained his own body. He was lying quite still.

The other figure was what drew him: Magnus, pacing back and forth at the foot of his bed. Every few steps he would rub his hand through his hair, vigorously, like he was trying to shake something out of it. He would pause, look over at Alec, then resume pacing. Stop, look at Alec, keep pacing. A few rotations went by, and Magnus stopped again, running his hand through his hair. He squeezed his eyes shut, and above them, there was a small explosion. A lightbulb burst.

Magnus sighed. He wiped his eyes quickly, and resumed pacing.

Magnus paced and paced. Alec didn’t know how long he stood invisible by his own bedside, watching, feeling nothing but a dull horror. Magnus, finally, sat. He reached to take Alec’s hand, drew back. Then a doctor came over. Magnus stood and confronted the doctor about what he was doing.

“Magnus,” muttered Alec. “Let the doctor do his job.”

He asked so many questions so aggressively that the doctor threatened to have him removed. Magnus sat back down. The doctor finished and left. Magnus reached for his hand again, jerked back again. Finally, he slumped back in his seat. He looked exhausted.

“Magnus,” said Alec. Magnus didn’t move. He approached the warlock. “Magnus, I’m fine. Please stop... just stop.” He put his hand out tentatively, then rested it on Magnus’s shoulder. It passed right through.

For a second, Alec entertained the idea that he had become a ghost. Didn’t bother him much. But the room was dissolving, fragmenting. Alec found himself in a blizzard, the whole world an orange-blue blur. In the distance, he saw lights—a silhouette, a castle? He stepped towards it, but the white wind wrapped him up and swallowed him whole.

_*   *   *_

_November 6, 2016_

_First Quarter_

“How are you doing?”

Maia looked up. Lily, sitting on the other side of the train, was looking up from her book.

Maia looked around herself.

“Were you...” she said. “Were you talking to me?”

Lily made a face. “Obviously.”

“Uh,” said Maia. “I’m fine.”

“Your leg is healing?”

“Yeah,” said Maia. “It’s almost healed. Just a little... tender.” She bent and rolled up the leg of her cargo pants, showing the bandage around her calf.

Lily looked, nodding. “That’s good.”

Maia rolled her pant leg back down. “How uh, are you doing?”

“Fine,” said Lily, looking back down at her book. “I’m always fine.”

Maia stared absently at Lily’s paperback, ( _The Age of Innocence_ by Edith Wharton), tugging at her scarf to make sure it was covering her neck. The railings and wires of a suspension bridge flew past outside, city lights glowing in the distance. They were on the St. Petersburg Metro, orange line. The New York alliance was chasing down another signal, coming from an island in the city. The last mission had left them two short—Alec was still unconscious, after three days, and Magnus had declined to leave his bedside. They had gained Alec’s sister, however, and with Simon, Clary, Jace, Luke, and Mayrse, they were making their way towards the signal.

Maia watched the bridge flicker by behind Lily. They were on the same team again, which. Well. She liked consistency. And, for whatever reason, Lily had talked to her.

She was doing it again.

“You know, this warlock we’re visiting is pretty famous,” Lily was saying.

“I did not know,” said Maia. “Is he?”

Lily nodded, picking her teeth with a long fingernail. “He’s had his apothecary on that island for centuries. Some people say he’s Rasputin’s son. Some people say he sold the poison that killed him. Some say both.”

Maia raised an eyebrow. “I thought Rasputin was shot.”

“So do most people,” said Lily.

“How could this guy even be Rasputin’s son if he’s hundreds of years old?” she said.

“What, Rasputin? You think he was a _mundane_?” said Lily.

Her voice was so condescending. Maia frowned. “I don’t know.”

“So, what do you think Valentine is cooking up with all these robberies?” Lily said. Maia folded her arms.

“No,” snapped Maia, fed up. “How the hell would I know?”

Lily raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry—” said Maia. She loosened her arms. “I’m just... still pretty new,” she explained. “New to all this... shadow world stuff.”

“New?” said Lily.

“Yeah,” said Maia. “I’ve only been a werewolf about ten months.”

“Really?” said Lily, looking genuinely surprised. “I didn't realize.”

Maia nodded. Outside, darkness swallowed their train—a tunnel.

“I’m going on fifty years myself,” Lily said over the roar of the tunnel.

“But you don’t look a day over forty-three,” said Maia.

Lily smiled ruefully. Maia thought it was maybe the first time she’d ever seen her smile. In truth, with her stylish bangs and beautiful eyes, she looked twenty-one.

“Anyway,” Lily was saying, “I think Valentine is building something. He needs all these pieces, and he got another one in Arequipa.”

“I thought that was just a trap,” said Maia.

“No, he took something,” said Lily, sitting forward. “Didn’t you notice? When we were leaving?”

Maia pointed at her leg. “I was distracted.”

“Right.” Lily leaned closer. “Well, I looked back at the clock tower as we left,” she said. “The four was missing.”

_*   *   *_

In the warlock’s house, the only sound was the howling wind outside. It felt good to be back on duty, Izzy thought, creeping down the hallway, Clary behind her. Izzy stopped at the end of the hallway, signaling Clary to wait, and peered around the doorway. The kitchen. A pair of motionless feet.

She turned to look at Clary, raising her eyebrows. Clary, understanding, raised her seraph blade. Izzy gripped her whip and stepped forward.

The kitchen was a disaster—there had clearly been a fight. A man lay in the middle of it, shards of dishware and broken glass everywhere—except, curiously, for a mirror leaning against the wall. It was just a sheet of glass, tilted up, reflecting the ceiling, but it was, miraculously, not broken. The man on the floor was ruddy and bearded, thin as a rail, with horns in his forehead. Izzy approached slowly, eyes on the mirror.

“Is he dead?” whispered Clary behind her.

Suddenly the warlock jerked, with a hacking, spluttering cough. Izzy threw her arm out in front of Clary protectively. But the warlock just coughed, blinking awake. He sat up.

Izzy and Clary stared at him.

“Are you alright?” Izzy asked. “Were you attacked?”

“Shadowhunters,” he said, his voice heavily accented and even more heavily disgusted. “Get out of my house.”

“Why don’t _you—_ ” began Izzy, but Clary interjected.

“We’re here to help,” she said. “Please, can you tell us who attacked you?”

“Help? You are only here to help yourselves,” he said.

Clary stepped towards him and crouched down.

“It was Valentine, wasn’t it?” she said.

The warlock stared blankly.

“Did he take something from you?”

“It’s not your concern,” said the warlock.

“Actually,” said Clary, “It is my concern. He’s my father.”

“I know that,” said the warlock. “Of course. The Fairchild girl.”

Clary nodded, her ringlets bobbing.

“He’s my father, and I need to bring him to justice before he hurts more people. He’s my responsibility.” Clary tilted her head at the warlock, who narrowed his eyes at her. “You might be able to understand,” she said quietly. “It’s not easy, having a father like that.”

The warlock’s eyes narrowed and his lip curled. “Excuse me?”

Clary froze.

“How _dare_ you,” he said, looking from Izzy to Clary. His voice rose. “Those rumors are fake. _Obviously_."

Izzy tightened her grip on her whip.

“You come into my house, insinuate that _I_ really killed my own father?” the warlock cried, jabbing himself in the chest. “How can you say this? How can you say we are alike?” He jabbed his finger towards Clary, and she flinched back. “Trying to manipulate me, Fairchild? Well I—”

He slumped to the floor. Izzy straightened up. She had knocked out with the butt of her whip. She held her hand out to Clary.

“Nice try at empathy,” she said to her.

Clary, looking shaken, took her hand and stood.

“I wasn’t trying to manipulate him,” she said in a small voice. “I was genuinely trying to...”

“It’s not your fault,” said Izzy. “Warlocks can be a bit touchy.”

“Guys?” Jace’s head appeared in the doorway.“You... found him?”

“Yep,” said Izzy, wrapping up her whip. Jace looked at her whip, then her. Izzy shrugged. “He tried to mess with Clary.”

Jace frowned. Clary folded her arms.

“We also found this mirror...” Izzy began, turning to point at the strange, unbroken mirror in the corner—but when she turned, she saw that it was gone.

“What?” said Jace and Clary in unison.

“Huh. I swear there was a mirror right there...” said Izzy, narrowing her eyes. “Well. What have you guys found?”

“Broken glass display case,” said Jace. “Most likely what Valentine stole. We have to translate the label.”

A half hour later, evidence collected and the stolen item identified—a handful of diamonds belonging to the Romanovs—they headed back to the metro. Their winter clothes were suited for November in New York, not Russia. Even on the heated subway, Izzy was freezing. She noticed Clary shivering too, sitting across the aisle from her, and felt the urge to wrap her arm around her.

The tunnel roared around them. Jace, next to Izzy, was clasping and unclasping his hands. He kept glancing at Clary, then his feet. Izzy bowed her head. She doubted he would say anything, after so many weeks.

But he did say something.

“Clary.”

Clary looked up.

“You’ve been doing uh, really well,” said Jace, his voice. “With your training. You’ve come really far. You should uh. Be proud.”

Clary’s eyes were wide. “Thanks,” she said.

Izzy stared at her friend. Behind her red head, the walls of the tunnel rumbled by. Izzy wanted to leave—this wasn’t her business.

“I’m sorry,” said Jace. His voice was gruff, but his eyes met Clary’s. “Sorry I’ve been so... distant.”

“No,” said Clary, shaking her head. “No, Jace. Take whatever time you need.”

Izzy felt Jace flinch, at the sound of his name in Clary’s mouth. Izzy’s stomach lurched.

“What happened to Alec...” Jace said slowly, “Made me think about... Unresolved issues. I don’t want to keep living with this silence between us. You’re my—my sister. That’s no one’s fault. I shouldn’t have taken out my frustration and fear on you.”

Clary nodded, eyes locked on Jace’s. Isabelle felt queasy, but she couldn’t look away either.

“I know you’ve been in a dark place,” said Clary. “Finding out about your father... Our father... well. It couldn’t have been easy. But thank you for apologizing.”

Jace swallowed, finally breaking their eye contact.

“I just can’t shake the feeling,” he said to her feet. “The feeling of darkness. I always felt like my dad was with me, watching over me. Now, I know, but I... I still feel him. I still feel like he’s... watching.” He looked up at Clary, eyes anguished. “He’s part of me. I’m evil, born and raised.”

Clary was shaking her head.

“There’s no evil in you,” Clary said. “I know you, Jace. You’re a warrior who fights for what’s right.”

“Valentine does what he thinks is right too,” said Jace.

“He’s wrong,” said Clary flatly. “And you can see that. Because you have your own moral code, not one you inherited or got indoctrinated with. You’re still your own person, Jace.”

The roar of the tunnel swallowed into quiet as they glided out into the night air. Izzy tore her eyes away from Clary, looking out the window. The train was flying across the bridge, and the city lights were twinkling in the distance.

“But how do I know?,” Jace said, “How do I know I won’t turn? Become something like him? Now that I know... I could start to slip. I’ve been my own person my whole life... Now I find out that person was made of toxic waste.”

“ _You’re_ not toxic, Jace. _Knowing_ your heritage doesn’t change what kind of person you _are_. You just have to keep getting up every morning and making the right choices. You’ve done it your whole life. You’ll keep doing it your whole life. I know you will.”

Jace didn’t have a retort. He just stared at Clary, and she stared back. Izzy’s stomach twisted tighter. She gripped the subway pole and stood up. Neither of them noticed.

Izzy walked to the end of the subway car, gazing out the window. A confusing mix of guilt and sympathy and fear was churning in her gut. There were issues, huge issues, turning around them. Whether Valentine was truly their father or not—and Izzy had her doubts—Clary and Jace were at the eye of a tremendous storm. They needed support, from Izzy and their friends, and they needed to find Jocelyn. They needed to dismantle the burden of their dark inheritance, to remember what good and kind people they were, no matter who their father might be. So why, then, could Izzy only think about the way Clary _looked_ at him?

_*   *   *_

The silence that followed Izzy’s exit was long. Clary held Jace’s gaze almost angrily, feeling some force pulling it downward, into an arc. The gaze bent dangerously, weighed down by something, and Clary was speaking again before she knew what she was mad about.

“And there’s something you’re forgetting, Jace,” she said. “Some _one._ Valentine is only half of your—our—genetics. There’s another half: our mother. And I don’t know anyone more deserving of the label ‘good person’ than Jocelyn Fray.”

Jace opened his mouth. “But she rai—”

“No, stop. She raised me, not you, I know,” Clary cut him off. His eyebrows came together in surprise. “You said you’re upset you found out what you were ‘made’ of, you said it was ‘toxic waste.’ That’s only half. Jocelyn is the kindest, most considerate, compassionate, and loving person I know. And I don’t care how sappy it sounds. It’s true. She’s half of me, and half of you too. When I got the vampires and werewolves to work together, or when I, I keep trying to be nice to Alec even when it seems like he hates me, or when I spend fifteen minutes telling my _brother_ to stop being so hard on himself—that’s her legacy.”

Clary’s face was hot but she kept going.

“You can’t just shrug off what you’ve learned about your heritage, Jace. But you can still make choices. You can choose which legacy to take up. You don’t have to be so fatalistic about it. And you _better_ stop conveniently forgetting about mom when you want to go into the self-pity hole.”

_*   *   *_

It was like when they were kids at the lake in Idris. Alec would chase Izzy and Jace around the dock, stomping his bare feet on the wet wood, snarling as they laughed and shrieked. Finally, they would push him over, and into the water he would fall. Alec would relax, let himself sink down, down, to the depths of the lake. The sounds of his siblings, of the wind and the birds and the world above, would taper off... the light would fade behind his closed eyelids... and the water would become cooler and denser. And as he sank, he would slow, until he almost stopped—and then, before he touched the bottom, he’d start to float back up. He never did find out what was at the bottom of the lake.

Rising to the surface was slower, harder, heavier. His oxygen running out, the light above was brightening, but not fast enough. He was rising, desperate to breathe, but unable to move, to propel himself up—there it was—dancing, flickering light—air—Alec pushed off the water and gasped to the surface, coughing and choking in the white air.

“Alec?”

He was gasping. Dark shapes coalesced around him.

“Alec—oh my god!”

“He’s awake! Someone get the doctor!”

The room around him was formed—the infirmary. The wall of people around him leaned in—his family—Isabelle was bent over him, Jace was gripping his shoulder, holding him down. His chest was still heaving, but he was breathing. Clary was leaning in and there was his mother, his father, Max. And there, behind everyone else—Magnus.

“You’re back, buddy, you’re fine,” Jace was saying.

“Where’s the doctor?” his mother was demanding.

“Just lie still Alec,” Izzy was saying, “Someone’s coming, just breathe...”

Alec’s breathing was steadying. He nodded mutely, inhaling, exhaling, eyes fixed on his boyfriend.

“You’re okay,” Izzy said.

Alec nodded, slowly lying back. The white-coated doctors appeared and the crowd gathered even closer, suffocating, and Magnus vanished from view.

It took almost a half hour to explain with everyone talking over each other. In Peru, he had sustained a lot of injuries, but shallow ones. The problem had been the demon venom, which they’d spent the past four days cycling out of his blood. He was in good shape now—it would only be a few more days before he returned to full strength. Alec nodded, trying to take it all in, but he felt dizzy and heavy, like he was still dreaming. Then his family had gabbed around him for another hour, expressing their relief and how they’d missed him and explaining some kind of Russian diamond exploit that he’d missed. He hardly processed what they were saying. When he looked at Jace, he saw the image from his dream—Jace, cursing and yelling, cradling his head in the stairwell. Alec looked away.

At last, they left. Alec loved them, but god, they could be overwhelming. He stared at the distant ceiling, deeply unsettled. He was increasingly certain that those dreams had not been dreams. Jace was one thing—he had been upset but leavelheaded, he had gotten Alec to safety. But Magnus... the sight of his boyfriend, disheveled, eyes bloodshot, sitting at his bedside but for some reason unable to hold his hand—Alec saw it every time he closed his eyes.

He rolled over onto his side, pulling the covers up over his face. He breathed deeply, letting his warm breath fill the space under the blankets. It was exactly what he’d been afraid of. Magnus would be devastated if he lost him. This wasn’t egotism on Alec’s part, it was just facts. Magnus cared about him. A _lot_. And the longer they spent together, the more Magnus would care. The more losing him would hurt.

The blanket was full of hot air now—too hot. Alec exhaled one last time, then threw the covers off. Cool air washed over him. There was a tinkling sound.

He sat up and squinted at the foot of his bed. What had fallen? Something glinted on the tile floor. A shard of frosted glass.

Alec stiffly swung out from under the warm sheets, careful of his IV tube, and stepped onto the floor. He knelt down and picked up the tiny shard. It was a piece of a lightbulb.

For a moment Alec knelt on the cold floor, tethered by the IV line in his arm, and stared at the little shard. It glittered mutely back at him.

Alec climbed back into bed, but did not get back under the covers. He lay on his back on top of the blanket. The infirmary was dark and empty, with the muffled city sounds outside, and the shadows of leafless trees dancing heavily like sunlight on water. He closed his eyes and let the cold air envelop him.

_*   *   *_

The next morning, Alec woke, surprisingly, alone. He’d expected his boyfriend to be there. Well Alec would just have to find him. This conversation couldn’t wait.

He didn’t have to search very far. Magnus was sitting on a bench two hallways away from the infirmary, texting.

“Hey, Magnus,” said Alec, dragging his IV pole as he approached.

Magnus looked up from his phone.

“Alexander,” he said warmly, standing. They hugged. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah, much better,” said Alec, letting go of Magnus. He gripped his IV pole awkwardly.

“I’m so glad.”

Alec cracked the knuckles on his other hand. “Where’ve you been? Why didn’t you come see me?”

“Oh, your family was there, and then you needed to sleep,” said Magnus, waving a hand and sitting down. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s no bother,” Alec said. “It’s never a bother to see you, Magnus.”

Magnus smiled.

“So did they update you on Valentine?” he said.

Alec nodded. “Yeah, something about a Russian warl...” He broke off. “Yeah, they did. But I wanted to talk to you. Not about that. It... can’t wait any longer.”

Magnus’s eyebrows knit. “What about?”

Alec sat down next to him.

“We got interrupted,” said Alec, “The other day—last week, I guess—there’s something I...” He looked down for a second, gathering his words. He looked back up. “You’re immortal.”

Magnus nodded. “Yes.”

“I’m not,” said Alec.

“You’re not.”

“Magnus, I know you’re—three? Hundred years old?—it’s not your first time to the, to the rodeo or whatever, but when you date or, or even just love a mortal person, you... You have to watch them age and die... I’m just.” Alec cracked his knuckles. “I’m just worried about it. About you. How you deal with that.”

Magnus was gazing at him sadly. He took Alec’s hand.

“Alec,” he said. “So compassionate.”

Alec twisted his mouth.

“It’s kind of you to worry,” said Magnus, “But I’ll be alright. Like you said, it’s not my first time dealing with it.” He squeezed Alec’s hand.

“But you can’t just, get _used_ to something like that,” Alec said.

“No,” said Magnus, looking away. “I never do.”

“Then how can I ask you to...”

Magnus looked back at him. “If that’s the price of spending time with you, then it’s a price I’ll pay.”

Alec tilted his head, looking at his boyfriend. His heart felt so heavy.

“Are you... sure?” he said.

“It’s hard, but I can deal with it. I’ll just need time.”

Alec smiled, but his heart sank lower. He bowed his head and leaned it against Magnus’s shoulder. Magnus raised his arm and wrapped it around Alec, carefully avoiding the IV tube. Alec nestled his head deeper in the crook of his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“I just keep thinking,” said Alec quietly. “The more time we spend together... the harder it’ll be for you.”

Magnus’s voice vibrated against his boyfriend’s side. “What’s the alternative?”

And once again, the image of Magnus, pacing desperately, rose in his mind. Alec saw the lightbulb exploding, Magnus hastily wiping his face. He squeezed his eyes shut.

_*   *   *_

_November 9, 2016_

_Waxing Gibbous_

Izzy glanced anxiously through the crowd, looking for Clary. The Institute op center had exploded into a flurry of activity following the news—Izzy had texted Clary, telling her to come down. It was news that had to be delivered in person.

Clary appeared at the top of the steps. Izzy made her way through the crowd, eyes on Clary. She looked anxious. She was gripping her phone in her hand. Her eyes fell on someone in the crowd behind Izzy, and she paled.

“Clary.”

Isabelle reached her.

“Izzy...” Clary said. “What’s going on? Why is Luke here?”

“It’s okay,” said Izzy. She put her hand on Clary’s arm. “We... got a message from some people undercover in Valentine’s operation.”

“What is it?” said Clary, voice shaking. “What is it?”

“It’s your mother. They found her.”

_*   *   *_

_Digging like you can bury_

_Something that cannot die_

_Or we could wash the dirt off our hands now_

_Keep it from living underground_


	5. Chapte Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time for the aaangst! and also time for my loving and maybe-too-detailed description of george's island. not to sound like a tourist brochure, but for real, if youre ever in boston, take the ferry out to the harbor islands. they're great.
> 
> next chapter on thursday. hope everyone has a good week.

_Love was kind, for a time_

_Now just aches and makes me blind_

[ [epigraph](https://youtu.be/GJ2Ywbr6cJA) [from](http://davidfosterwallaceandgromit.tumblr.com/post/142604373693/lilyandjames-well-love-was-kind-for-a-time) ; [george’s island](http://www.bostonharborislands.org/#!georges-island/cld4), [boston](http://www.celebrateboston.com/ghost/georges-island-lady-in-black-ghost.htm), [united states](http://image.shutterstock.com/z/stock-photo-georges-island-winter-fortress-in-boston-harbor-ma-131506997.jpg) ]

4.

_December 9, 2016_

_Waxing Gibbous_

“They found her? Who?”

Alec’s parabatai was hurrying down the hallway. He was struggling to keep up.

“Clave spies,” said Jace, jaw set.

“How did they find her?” panted Alec.

“How?” said Jace. “I don’t know how. How would I know?”

“Jace—” Alec grabbed his arm, “—slow down, would you?”

“It’s my mother, Alec!” he shouted, throwing up his hands. “How do you think I—”

“No—I mean, slow _down_ ,” said Alec, raising his eyebrows. “I can’t _walk_ that fast.”

Jace lowered his arms. “Right. Sorry.”

He led the way, more slowly, to the Institute floor. They entered on a chaotic swarm of New York and Idris shadowhunters. In the midst of the crowd, Alec spotted Clary and Luke. Luke had his arm around her shoulders. They were listening to a briefing from Raj.

“...wasn’t until today that we were able to pinpoint the location. It’s this island—”

Raj indicated the screen behind him, showing a small island with some sort of pentagon on it.

“—which is in the Boston Harbor,” he went on, and the picture zoomed out, showing a small fleet of islands in the crook of a larger bay.

“The island is part of a national park, but it’s closed for the winter. They’re keeping her in the disused army fort on this particular island. Our intelligence says this is _not_ his base of operations. He visits frequently, but it’s just an outpost for hiding Jocelyn.”

Luke frowned. “If Valentine visits, why hasn’t it shown up on Magnus’s tracker?” he asked.

“We aren’t sure,” said the Raj. “There’s two likely reasons. First, that keeps the cup with himself at all times, but at his various bases, he has protective spells. Spells Magnus doesn’t know about. But he doesn’t have portable protection, so we can only track him when he travels—and he doesn’t know, or doesn’t care, because he thinks holding onto the cup is more important. That’s the first possibility. The second one is that he _does_ know we’re tracking, and is using it to his advantage. He keeps the cup shards in hiding most of the time, and he brings them out strategically—when he feels like taking us for a ride.”

“Second one sounds about right,” said Jace. He was standing next to Alec, feet planted, arms folded. The Jace stance.

“Let’s hope that’s not it,” Raj said. He clicked something and Magnus’s tracking map appeared. The dots over Idris were the only ones showing.

“We need to recover Jocelyn and find out what she knows,” said Raj. “The Clave wants us to wait until he shows up somewhere else, then strike at his island hideout. We’ll send one team after him as usual, so everything appears normal, and a second strike team to the island to get Jocelyn.”

“They’re letting the New York team handle this?” said Luke, surprised.

“Not exactly,” said Raj. “They’re sending a team to lead both the rescue and distractor missions. They said the New York coalition has done good investigative work so far, but that we can’t afford to...” He glanced at Alec, eyeing the bandages on his arms and the bandage peeking out of his collar. “...to _bungle_ this mission.”

“Right,” Alec said, folding his arms.

“Right,” Raj said. He looked uncomfortable. “So they’ll be leading the missions. Anyone have questions?”

No one said anything.

“Okay,” said Raj. “We’ll be watching the map. Next time Valentine shows up, we move in.”

*   *   *

_December 11, 2016_

_Waxing Gibbous_

“We’re looking for... for what?”

“Mirrors,” said Luke. “It’s not much of a lead, but it’s something. While everyone is waiting for Jocelyn’s location, we need someone to look into it. I thought of you two.”

Maia glanced incredulously at Lily, sitting beside her. They were in Luke’s office at the Jade Wolf.

“...Why?” said Lily to Luke.

He shrugged. “I think you two work well together.”

Maia squinted disbelievingly at her leader. He looked over at her. She tried, wordlessly, to say, _How could you betray me like this?_ His eyes smiled.

“The Institute library is the first place to search,” he said. “We have some files here, but werewolves aren’t great bookkeepers. Then there’s whatever archives the vampires keep, which is none of my—”

“None of your _damn_ business,” Lily interrupted.

“That’s what I was saying,” Luke continued calmly. “None of my _damn_ business. And Magnus’s library. Set up a time to meet with him and look at his collection. Until then, you can start at the Institute.”

Maia folded her arms. _Library research?_ What century was it?

“Fine,” Lily said. “I’m in.”

Maia looked over in surprise.

Lily avoided her glance. “What?” she said. “I like books.”

Maia looked over at Luke. He had a tiny smile. “Great. Maia?”

She couldn’t let her leader down. She nodded silently.

“Great,” said Luke. “I’ll tell them you’re coming. You’ll be experts on all things mirrors in no time.”

Outside, sleet was falling. _Sleet._ Reminded Maia of New Jersey. She and Lily made their way from the Jade Wolf towards the nearest metro stop, making terse small talk.

“...and I can’t believe Luke is putting _me_ on this,” Maia was saying. “I’m not the scholarly type.”

They turned a corner and the metro came into view. Commuters, tilted against the weather, passed them in the opposite direction.

“Book research...” Maia scoffed, half to herself.

Lily looked away, but Maia thought she was smiling a little. They crossed the street, aiming for the glowing metro sign.

“Maia,” said Lily. “I know you like books.”

“Huh?” said Maia.

“I mean, you obviously like some books” said Lily. “You reference _Harry Potter_ , like, constantly.”

Maia tugged at her scarf, pulling it up over her neck. “I don’t know. Maybe I used to.” She swallowed down the next sentence that rose to her lips.

“Used to?”

Lily pushed the station door open and held it for Maia, gesturing her in. Maia stepped into the warm, dark dampness of the metro station and paused as Lily caught up.

And she wasn’t sure why, but she continued speaking. “I don’t really,” she said, “I don’t, I try not to talk about my childhood too much. You know?”

Lily, stopped in front of her, nodded ever so slightly. Around them, rush hour passengers flowed past.

“I know,” she said.

“Or really think about it,” Maia said. She added, “But I liked Harry Potter, you’re right.”

“Anything else you liked?” Lily asked.

“I liked fantasy and sci fi,” she said. “Neil Gaiman, _A Series of Unfortunate Events._ The _Hitchhiker’s Guide_ books. I liked those _Warrior_ books. You probably haven’t heard of...”

“I like those!” said Lily.

“Seriously?” said Maia. “The cat books? I loved those! How old were you when they came out, like, forty?”

“Eternally young, baby,” said Lily with a fanged grin.

Maia laughed.

“What else?”

“My favorite was _The Golden Compass,_ ” Maia said. “And the sequels. I read those when i was, I don’t know, twelve? They were...” She trailed off, looking away. She realized they were standing still in the middle of a rush hour crowd. The commuters flowed around them, parting and rejoining like the arrows on those diagrams from eighth grade that inaccurately explained how Bernoulli’s law kept planes up. “Oh god,” she said. “Sorry. I don’t know why I stopped. Let’s go.”

Half-consciously, she tugged Lily’s sleeve and they moved out of their little ellipsis, heading down to the subway.

An hour and a train ride later, Lily and Maia were walking stiffly through the Institute lobby. It had been almost a week since Russia and a couple days since discovering Jocelyn’s location. Things were quiet.

They passed a sitting room with the door ajar, and saw Isabelle and Clary inside; passing the kitchen, they saw Alec, whisking something. Lily stopped in front of a wooden door. She knocked.

“Is this it?” Maia said. She expected a dry response, but Lily actually smiled.

“Yeah,” she said. “The library.”

The door swung open, apparently opened by no one, and they stepped in. It was an ordinary library, maybe a little nicer than the public libraries back in New Jersey—but next to her, Lily sighed. A dreamy sigh. Maia was beyond surprised now. It was almost endearing.

Lily saw her staring. “What?” she said. “I like books.”

“I can see that,” Maia said, suppressing a grin. “So, where should we start?”

Lily beckoned. She led her through the stacks, to a wall of tiny metal compartments.

“We start with a post office?” Maia said.

“It’s a card catalogue, smart-ass,” said Lily, tapping different squares—drawers, then?—in some sort of pattern. “I just have to...”

The wall of shelves shook. Maia stepped back.

“Aha,” said Lily. The card catalogue rumbled, and Lily leaned forward. “Mirrors, please,” she said.

The whole card catalogue shook, and then hundreds of drawers flew open. Paper cards came roaring out, a great swarm of white edges and corners. Maia flinched, raising an arm, but—

“It’s okay!” Lily called over the din. “It’s supposed to do this! It’s a self-indexing catalogue! You just ask for a subject, and it gives you every book that mentions it!”

“Oh!” said Maia, lowering her arm. The cards danced and soared through the air like dandelion puffs in the wind. Lily grinned. _Magic,_ Maia thought, shaking her head. It was like the letters in the first _Harry Potter_. Lily reached out and grabbed one, smiling. She held it up. _Apothecaries of North London: A History,_ it said.

“Let’s get started!”

*   *   *

“...I wanted you to see that I was well again. So that you could move on, but the most curious thing happened: you stayed. Days passed, then a week.”

Izzy leaned forward in her seat. Next to her, Clary had her hand over her mouth.

“It became clearer and clearer that you were not staying for me, but for yourself.”

“Sherlock, I...”

“It's difficult for you to say aloud, I know. So I won't ask you to, rather I would ask you to consider a proposal.”

“Oh my god,” said Clary.

“Stay on permanently. Not as my sober companion, but as my companion. Allow me to continue to teach you, assist me in my investigations.”

“ _Yess_ ,” hissed Izzy.

They were watching _Elementary._ Once Alec had woken up, they had resumed their TV quest and, at Simon’s recommendation, they tried this. Clary had never seen it herself, but Simon loved it, and said it addressed the “unhealthy” parts of the Holmes/Watson relationship to which Izzy had so loudly objected. This had been a few days ago. They were now most of the way through season one.

“I am... better with you, Watson,” Sherlock was saying to a speechless Joan. “I'm sharper, I'm more focused. Difficult to say why exactly.” He paused. “Perhaps in time I'll solve that as well.”

Izzy let her breath out as Sherlock left the room.

“That was so intense,” said Clary. A car commercial started.

“I love them,” said Izzy. “Thank you for showing me this show.”

“I’m just glad I finally found something you like,” said Clary. “And I’m glad it has four seasons.”

“Should last until the end of the week,” said Izzy with a grin. They laughed. A commercial for some overblown exercise equipment played.

“So how are you feeling?” said Izzy, stretching in her seat.

“About?”

“You know,” said Izzy. “Your mom. We know where she is but we have to... wait.”

Clary chewed her lip. “I want to save her,” she said slowly, “But I want to do it the right way. I was... impulsive when I started looking for her. Didn’t get me that far.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” said Izzy, tilting her head. “We saved Simon and Meliorn! And found the cup!”

“And almost got you thrown in jail,” said Clary, looking Izzy in the eye.

“That was my idea,” said Izzy.

“Still,” said Clary, frowning. “I just... want to be careful.”

For some reason, Izzy’s heart sank. “So you believe what my mom says,” said Izzy, turning back to the laptop.

“What’s that?” said Clary, as Sherlock and Watson reappeared.

“That passion makes you weak,” said Izzy. “And dangerous.”

“Maybe,” murmured Clary. “Maybe I’m tired of being dangerous.”

*   *   *

Thump thump. Pause. Thump thump.

Jace pulled back and reset his stance. He eyed the punching bag, then roundhouse kicked two more times. Alec was holding it steady. Thump thump. Jace’s kicks thrummed through the bag, shaking Alec. Thump thump. Alec looked round the bag at his parabatai.

Jace shook his head. “Don’t even ask, Alec,” he said.

Alec rolled his eyes.

“You’re not punching anything until your shoulder heals,” Jace said. “We’re doing PT in a minute.” Thump thump, he kicked again.

Alec adjusted his grip and sighed. Jace was right, but he hated waiting. It had been a week since his demon encounter, and he had just been discharged from the infirmary. Now he had to do physical therapy exercises twice a day for a month. What a waste of time.

Jace finished his last round, panting, and Alec let go. His parabatai strode across the training room floor for a drink. Alec followed, sliding down to sit on the floor. His whole body was sore.

“How are you feeling?” Alec asked.

Jace swallowed his water. “Out of breath,” he said.

Alec gave him a look. “I mean about everything. Your mother. Your father. All that.”

Jace made a noncommittal noise, and capped his water bottle.

“Honestly, pretty good,” said Jace, “It’s annoying being on high alert all week, just waiting, but...”

He sat down next to Alec on the floor.

“I feel like I can handle it,” said Jace. “When we finally go.”

“You’ve handled it so far,” Alec said.

Jace nodded. “Exactly. I was worried, every mission, that I would see Valentine and... I don’t know, get turned, somehow. But I’ve been fine.”

“Maybe you aren’t a sleeper agent after all,” said Alec.

Jace smiled a one-sided smile and nodded, still a little breathless. He looked relieved. Alec felt relieved too. For the past two months, Jace had been picking up the pieces of the life he’d spent nine years building, free of his abusive father. Finally, it seemed the pieces were starting to fit back together.

There was a quiet pause. Jace’s breathing slowed to normal.

“Should we start?” said Jace.

Alec fiddled with a bandage.

“Come on, it’ll only take a few minutes,” said Jace. “I remember the stretches from when I was recovering in September. I’ll show you.”

Alec glanced sideways at his stepbrother.

“Hey, I hated being benched too. But you’ll be back soon,” said Jace. “Even sooner with...” He moved his arms in an exaggerated lifting pantomime, baring his teeth like a gym bro— “PT!”

Alec huffed a laugh despite himself. He jerked his head. “Fine. Show me how it’s done.”

Jace stood, and Alec followed. Jace shook his arms down to his wrists, then spread his feet, bent over, and started making pendulum circles with his arms. Alec did the same. He winced.

“Feels good, right?” said Jace, bent over.

“Feels great,” Alec replied sarcastically.

Jace huffed an upside-down laugh.

“Come on, Alec,” he said. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“It’s...” Alec watched his hands make circles. “It’s Magnus.”

Jace straightened up, cracking his back. He nodded.

They started swinging their arms back to front. Alec reluctantly continued: “I... Remember when I talked to you about the whole... immortality? Thing?”

Jace nodded again. “Did you guys talk about it?”

“Yeah,” said Alec, looking at the bandages on his arms as they swung by. “Yeah, we talked after I woke up.”

“How’d it go?”

Alec shrugged. “Magnus said he could handle it. Handle, you know. Losing me.”

Jace cocked his head sympathetically. They switched direction, swinging their arms side to side across their bodies.

“But I...” Alec winced. This one hurt his shoulder. “I don’t believe him.”

“You don’t believe he can handle it?” said Jace, swinging.

Alec shook his head.

Jace frowned. “Can’t say I disagree. You didn’t see him when you were unconscious. He was... upset.” Jace switched motions again, swinging his arms in a full circle and clapping above his head. “I thought he was going to sock me.”

Alec laughed humorlessly as he swung his arms. He thought of the lightbulb. He _had_ seen him in that state. But he didn’t say anything.

“So what do you think you should do?” said Jace.

Alec frowned, clapping. “I don’t know. But it feels like the more time we spend together, the more attached to me he’ll get. Obviously, I’ll get more attached too. But I’m the one who’s going to, you know. Die.”

“Not if I can help it,” said Jace, clapping over his head.

“Ha ha,” said Alec. “You know what I mean.”

Jace stopped swinging, and put one foot out. He stretched, bending the front knee and leaning one hand on it. He started swinging his other arm in circles. Alec, stiffly, mimicked the pose and started swinging.

“So what are you going to do?” Jace asked.

Alec winced. His shoulder really hurt. He knew the PT would help, and now that he’d started, he pressed on—but god, did it hurt.

“I’m trying to believe him,” panted Alec. “He said he needs time, to prepare for losing me, I guess. So maybe I need time too. To get used to the idea of hurting him.”

“Mm,” said Jace thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”

They switched arms, swinging the other around. There was silence except for their labored breathing.

“I’m sure you’ll work through it,” Jace said after a pause.

“Yeah?” said Alec breathlessly.

“Yeah,” said Jace. “I can tell just from the way you two talk. You’ve been together for what, two and a half months? You’ve never even dated before, Alec. And yet the baseline assumption is that you’ll be together till death does you part. Without question.”

“Is that how we talk?” panted Alec, slowing down. He let his arm swing to a stop.

“Yes, it is,” said Jace. He stopped too, and stood up, stretching. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Thanks,” said Alec dryly, giving him a look. Jace grinned and turned away, reaching for his water.

Alec tried to sound his usual ironic self, but between his thumping heartbeats, he felt an ache. Jace was partly right—it hadn't been immediate, but for a little while, that _had_ been his assumption about himself and Magnus.

For a little while.

*   *   *

_December 13, 2016_

_Full Moon_

“Hello darling.”

“Hey,” said Alec.

Magnus looked past Alec at the bustling Institute lobby and, determining that no one was watching, gave him a swift kiss on the cheek.

As he pulled away, Magnus saw Alec’s eyes remain closed for just a second. Magnus felt a tug in his heart, like he’d gone over a bump in the road.

“Alexander,” said Magnus softly. “Is everything—”

“Alec!”

Jace’s voice intervened. Magnus, sighing, removed his hand from Alec’s arm and Alec turned on his axis, turned away from Magnus.

“It’s the Idris team. They’re here and the leader wants to talk to you.”

“Okay,” said Alec. “I was going to get Clary and Isabelle, can someone—”

“Magnus, can you?” said Jace, already dragging Alec towards the lobby. Alec shot a last glance at Magnus, who nodded.

“Of course,” he said. “And where...?” Jace and Alec vanished into the churning crowd. After over a week, Valentine’s signal had at last appeared. He was in Australia. So half the NYC coalition was going there, with Idris chaperones, and the other half was off to Boston Harbor, with more Idris chaperones. The Clave had divided the NY coalition rather obviously—Luke, Maia, Lily, and Simon were on the team going to Australia, while Magnus and the shadowhunters went to Boston. Magnus was the only downworlder on their team, and it felt, to him, a reluctant assignment.

But he was used to it. He would miss Simon, he thought as he strode through the Institute. He had grown rather fond of the fledgeling vampire. He found Izzy’s room next to Alec’s, and pushed open the door without knocking.

“Isabelle, it’s Magnus. Urgent news, we—

He stopped. Inside was Izzy, sitting on the floor with her back against her bed, and Clary, lying on her stomach on the bed. Clary’s head was right next to Izzy’s, and they were both looking at something. Their faces were quite close together.

They looked up at Magnus when he entered. He looked back with equal surprise.

“Sorry,” said Magnus. “Am I... interrupting?”

Clary looked confused. Izzy turned pink.

“Of course not!” she said, straightening up and shutting the tablet in her lap. “What’s going on, Magnus?”

“The tracker is active,” said Magnus, “Signal coming from Australia. We’re leaving in ten.”

Izzy jumped to her feet. Clary lay still, looking at the floor with wide eyes.

Magnus nodded towards the tablet. “Watching another one of Clary’s shows?”

“Yeah,” said Izzy with a smile. “She finally roped me into one.”

Magnus chuckled. “Just last week she was trying to foist some ‘podcast’ on me,” he said. “Isn’t that right, Clary?” He looked over and noticed that she was still lying down. “Clary?”

The redhead’s back rose with a visibly deep breath. She inhaled, then exhaled. Then she sat up and stood. She looked pale but determined.

“You ready?” Izzy said to her quietly.

Clary nodded.

“I’m ready.”

Eleven minutes later, the twenty-person team was packed into a tiny fishing vessel in the middle of Boston Harbor. If Boston itself wasn’t cold enough in December, its harbor was frigid. Magnus breathed into his scarf, trying to warm his face with his own breath, and gripped the side of the boat. The glowing city shoreline curved round the horizon, corralling the turbulent sea. The ocean bucked and reared, the wind spat and snorted, and the tiny boat rode towards their destination. The sky, in contrast, was perfectly still. Cloudless—almost no stars visible. The moon was rising above the city skyline, full and bright, blotting out those lesser points of light. Magnus’s stomach thrummed with foreboding and seasickness.

At last, George’s Island came into view. There was suspenseful ten minutes where, trying to land discreetly on a rocky beach, it seemed they might shipwreck, but they made it.

The team disembarked, rounded the beach, and passed under the welcome signs ( _George’s Island! Boston Harbor Islands State Park! Closed for the Season!_ ). They cut through the narrow fort entrance—a stone tunnel sliced into the grassy hill (the grass was tan, dead)—no signs of life. They stopped in the middle of the fort, a pentagonal courtyard bathed in moonlight. It was ringed with dark windows and empty doorways, leering like tooth gaps in the stone walls. No visible signs of life, no, but Magnus could feel it. They were in the right place.

Two Idris scouts circled the courtyard perimeter, while the rest of the team gathered around the leader. She opened map on the grass and held a witchlight over it. “There is a maze of tunnels under and inside this fort,” she said. “We’ll split into two groups, one west, one east,” she said, gesturing along some tunnel paths. “We’re looking for this room specifically—” She tapped a large space in the southeast, “—and this cell block. But there may be other rooms not shown on this map. Any questions?”

Silence.

“Great,” she said. “Everyone on my left, you’re the East team, and on my right, West. Good luck everyone. And watch out for the ghost.”

Magnus glanced around as the team metastasized into two. He was on the eastern team, and so were Alec and Mayrse. Alec was looking with an anxious frown at the western team, which, Magnus saw, was shuffling Jace away. Jace’s eyes locked on Alec’s. He nodded to his parabatai. Alec raised his eyebrows. Jace, moving further away, shook his head. Alec’s jaw clenched. Jace raised a gloved hand goodbye, and the western team disappeared into the maw of the island. Alec stared after them, stock-still.

Magnus approached and gently touched Alec’s elbow. Alec jumped.

“Alexander,” said Magnus.

“Sorry—hey,” said Alec. “Just... Jace.”

Magnus nodded understandingly. The team was leaving. “Come on,” he said.

The halls inside of the fort smelled of chalk and salt, wind howling down. Someone with a witchlight led the way until they reached a staircase with a rusted door. Someone drew the unlock rune and the door opened with a screech.

Everyone froze, listening. Had their presence been detected? But the halls only whistled back at them.

The team filed down the staircase and found a long hall stretching both ways into darkness. The floor was dirt here, an empty lantern and a cigarette box lying on it. The western team leader gestured, dividing the teams into two teams of five. Magnus and Alec followed him and two Idris scouts to the left.

The sounds of wind and sea faded as they crept deeper into the fort. There were still no signs of recent activity. They passed a few jail cells, empty, and barracks, also empty. But as they passed a small alcove, something caught Magnus’s eye. He stopped.

_A mirror?_

Alec, bringing up the rear behind him, stopped. They looked into the alcove, which was otherwise empty but for dirt and an empty wall sconce, at the mirror. It was a floor-length mirror, the kind Magnus had on the back of his bedroom door. It was not cracked or even dirty—it was just a mirror. In the basement of an unused military fort.

“Alec,” he murmured, “Does that look like the mirror your sister described? From Russia?”

“Not sure,” said Alec. “But it looks pretty clean for a Civil War relic. Should we—”

A scream tore down the hall.

Alec’s hand flew to his quiver and he had an arrow nocked. Magnus, hands raised and ready to cast a spell, hurried down the dark hall. Their team’s witchlight had gone out. Magnus blinked, and his yellow eyes opened. The hall came into focus, uneven and dirt-floored, and empty. He squinted into the gloom, advancing slowly, hands at the ready.

There—something moved. Something close to the ground. Magnus snapped his fingers and a band of blue flame whipped across the hallway.

“Who’s there?” he thundered.

The blue light danced, lighting up... an empty hall.

“Where did everyone go?” Magnus muttered.

He felt Alec’s hand grip his arm. “Magnus,” said Alec.

Alec pointed ahead, upward. Magnus’s eyes followed his hand. In the shadows of the ceiling, a pale face loomed. The shadowhunter who had led their team, arms out, back flat against the ceiling. His eyes wide.

“Oh my _god—_ ”

“We need to get out of here!”

 _Whoosh_. Something flew from behind them and hit the wall near their dead leader. It left a glowing red hole in the wall.

“Magnus, look out!”

Magnus ducked, felt Alec let go of his arm. He saw Alec draw his bow and shoot into the darkness, and another tiny fireball flew by. Then another. Alec shot again. Another fireball.

“Alec, let’s go!” said Magnus, and grabbed his boyfriend’s arm. They plunged down the hall, hugging the wall. A drop of blood from the ceiling hit Magnus’s hand and he shook it off.

They rushed down the hall and found it turned into a staircase. “Where are the other two?” Alec said, as another fireball whizzed by.

“Hopefully this way!” said Magnus, and pulled Alec up the stairs.

They scaled the muddy steps and found themselves in a low, wide space. The floor was still dirt, but the walls and pillars were pale stone.

“Quick,” said Alec, stepping behind a pillar. Mangus ducked behind another one. His chest was still heaving. What had killed their leader? Where were their teammates?

Catching his breath, Magnus nodded at Alec. He nodded mutely back, and they peered around their respective pillars. The room was a vast swamp of pale marble, with row after row of white pillars rising like dead tree trunks. Among the pillars, candles twinkled at random intervals. The whole space was aglow with a dull, sourceless light, like moonlight coming through a cloudbank. _We must be getting close to where they’re hiding Jocelyn,_ Magnus thought.

They stole out and ducked behind the next row of pillars, then paused. Magnus listened, but heard nothing. They moved to the next, paused, then the next. Through the forest of columns, Magnus began to see something pulsing, light and dark. He signaled Alec, who squinted at it. He gave Magnus an “I don’t know” look, and they kept going. The shadowy shape grew larger, but no less indistinct. It seemed to be rippling.

At the next pillar, they paused, and, hearing nothing, Magnus moved forward—but Alec raised his hand. _Wait._

Magnus listened. He heard a thin static, the distant tide and—

Footsteps.

Magnus whipped around. From the murky brightness behind them, muffled footsteps approached. He braced himself.

 _Woosh_.

A fireball sailed by between them pillars, much larger. It hit a pillar, exploding into in a cloud of smoke and dust. With a crack and a crash, the pillar collapsed to the floor.

Another fireball whooshed, aimed at Magnus, and Magnus jumped away. It exploded where he had been seconds before.

“Magnus!” came Alec’s voice from somewhere in the smoke—somewhere to his right. “Are you—”

_Woosh._

Without thinking, Magnus threw himself towards the sound of Alec’s voice. The smoke parted and he saw Alec was looking for him—not looking towards the next fireball—hurtling towards him—

“Mag—Magnus, _no!_ ”

Magnus flung his arms out and he was in front of Alec, between his boyfriend and the fireball. The red sphere roared towards him and Alec was yelling when suddenly—

*   *   *

“Do you see that?”

Clary stopped in front of him.

“What?” Jace said.

They were creeping down a narrow, sloped hall. The western team had divided and divided until only they were left—and there was no sign yet of Jocelyn or of Valentine’s cronies.

“Up ahead,” said Clary.”

Jace squinted in the darkness. He wished he was with Alec instead of Clary. They were on better terms, certainly, but Jace didn’t think they were ready to be battle partners.

“Look...” She pocketed the witchlight and the hall was swallowed in darkness. But not total darkness—there was a tiny orange glow up ahead. A candle.

_Shit._

The candle was lighting a landing at the bottom of a narrow staircase. They approached quietly, stepped through the doorway to the staircase, and there was a whirring sound.

Jace frowned. “What’s th—”

“Duck!”

 _Fwomp. Fwomp._ Darts, shooting from the walls of the staircase.

“Shit!” shouted Jace, diving forward. The darts sailed by, hitting the opposite wall, coming out higher and higher as they scrambled up the stairs, barely a step ahead of the darts. One grazed his elbow, tearing his jacket and searing his skin.

Jace burst out the top of the staircase just behind Clary, chest heaving. Clary was hunched over, panting.

“Did you get hit?” Jace asked, rubbing his elbow.

“No,” said Clary, “I’m fine. Did you?”

“Just grazed,” he said. He held up his torn elbow. She nodded.

As they caught their breath, she looked around. “What is this place?” Clary said, “Is this the room the team leader wanted us to find?” They were in a wide, glowing room, so vast Jace couldn’t see the walls. All he could see was row after row of white columns. Fucking creepy.

“I don’t know, but there’s more lit candles,” said Jace, pointing. “Either it’s a trap, or the Idris chick wasn’t joking about the ghost.”

Clary gave a tiny smile.

“Let’s sweep it,” she said. “I’ll go left.”

Jace looked at her, and nodded. “I’ll go right then. Good luck.”

She looked back at him. “See you soon.”

Jace moved off to the right, ducking behind a column. He crept straight for a bit, passing column after column... but there was nothing other than random candles. Jace wanted to find a wall—maybe there was a door. He started veering further right. But all he found was more goddamn pillars.

At length, he came upon a sconce with all five candles lit. Weird. He drew closer, looking around for a guard or something—anything. Nothing.

He circled the well-lit pillar, frustrated, wondering where the f— _crunch_.

Jace stepped on something. He looked down. _Glass?_ He moved his foot and crouched. It was a rather large shard of shiny glass—a piece of mirror, he realized. _Like the one Izzy saw in Russia?_ Tentatively, he reached out and picked it up.

He held the mirror shard up to the candlelight and looked at it. It shimmered back. Jace brought it closer, to check his hair (might as well)—but—wait. He brought it closer... no reflection. He didn’t see himself in the mirror. Instead, he saw bark. A tree? _What the hell?_

Suddenly a cry rang through the pillars.

“Jace! I found her!”

Jace jumped to his feet. “What?” he shouted.

“This way! She—oh my god!”

“Clary?” he yelled.

Jace started running. The further he went, the darker the room got. He sped up. He heard other footsteps—he pulled out his seraph blade, not stopping. The shadow was growing larger. It was pulsing. Jace panted. It was coming into view—a staircase, with two figures at the top and more at the bottom. He was almost there—

With a strangled cry, a figure came hurtling towards him. Jace raised his seraph blade and met it, stabbing straight through. With a grunt it fell back—a Forsaken. More were coming. Panting, Jace raised his blade.

Another Forsaken fell easily, then two came at once. One grabbed his arm, and while he slashed at it, the other put its hands on his throat. These were stronger than ordinary Forsaken, but still no match for Jace. He slashed the one on his arm and then tossed the blade from one hand to the other, then sliced the other Forsaken through the neck. He raised his blade for the next attacker.

“Come and get it, you undead fucks,” Jace panted.

But the next was not a Forsaken. A robed figure stepped forward, holding something. The thing it its hand and it lit up. A seraph blade.

 _Shit,_ Jace thought. _Shadowhunter._ “Traitor,” Jace said.

“Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern,” rasped the shadowhunter. “Your father is anxious to see you.”

“Really?” said Jace, making his voice as mocking as he could. “You know my dad?”

“Come with us,” said the shadowhunter. “You will sooner or later—why waste the time?”

Jace’s stomach lurched. “I never will,” he spat.

“Wrong, Jonathan,” said the shadowhunter, and lunged forward. Jace’s blade parried theirs with a clang. He pushed forward, sending them flying back. He spun the blade in his hand and dove forward to meet them, teeth bared.

“It’s not ‘Jonathan,’” he growled, pushing up against their blade. “It’s Jace.”

They shoved him and their blades clashed and clanged in a flurry of blows. Jace wondered fleetingly if he had ever known this traitor before they turned—and ducked, letting their blade woosh over his head. When Jace straightened up, there were two more flanking the first. All wearing robes, all with seraph blades.

“Christ,” muttered Jace. He brandished his blade.

“Surrender, Jonathan,” said one of the others. “We don’t want to hurt you.”

“Well you might have to,” Jace replied, and dove forward. There was a flurry of blades and feet, and two of the traitorous shadowhunters went flying, one with a hand cut off. That one screamed.

Jace, panting, kept fighting the third. Whoever they were, they were good—but Jace was still better. He feinted left then grabbed their other arm, twisting it back. The shadowhunter grunted and twisted, trying to shake Jace off.

But he already had both their arms from behind and his blade on their throat. Chest heaving, he held them there. His hand was shaking. Blood sprang from their neck. In the distance, Jace heard a small explosion.

“Do it, Jonathan,” said the shadowhunter.

The other two were rising unsteadily. Jace looked at them, then back at his blade. If he wanted to make it out, he had to kill this one.

“Do it,” they hissed. “Make your father proud.”

Jace looked up at them, one clutching the stump of his arm, both advancing. He heard another explosion. His heart pounded. Could he kill a fellow shadowhunter? What kind of person would that make him?

Suddenly, the room went dark. A band of blackness, a black light, somehow, like a shockwave, pulsed through the room. The two standing shadowhunters stumbled, and Jace and his prisoner were knocked back. Jace tried to regain his footing, but in the second of distraction, the other two shadowhunters reached him. The one with two hands grabbed his arm roughly. He dropped his seraph blade, still blinking from the bizarre black light.

“Good boy, Jonathan,” the traitor growled.

“It’s Jace,” said Jace. He felt a blow to his head, and everything went dark.

*   *   *

A black shockwave blasted through the air. It sent Magnus stumbling, he felt Alec grab his shoulder, and the fireball hurtling towards them was knocked off its course—it crashed into another pillar and exploded.

“What the hell was that?” yelled Alec behind him, hand still on his shoulder.

“I don’t know!” Magnus said, gasping for breath. “Did you see where it came fr—”

“No! Not the shockwave, what was _that?”_ demanded Alec, spinning Magnus around. “Why did you jump in front of me like that, Magnus?”

Alec’s chest heaved in the space between them. _Alive._ Magnus stammered, scrambling for words. “I—”

 _Boom._ Another shockwave pulsed through the air, making them both stumble. Magnus stood dizzily back up, clutching his head. What was _doing_ that?

Whatever it was, it came from the darkness at the center of the room.

“This way!” he said, grabbing Alec’s hand. Alec jerked his hand away, but followed.

Another shockwave crashed by, but they pressed on. The black glow was growing stronger, pulsing, filling the room with waves of shadow. Magnus squinted. It was a dais, he thought, with that rippling something floating above it. And shadows moving below...

Suddenly the whole scene snapped into focus. At the center of the forest of pillars, on top of a marble platform, Jocelyn Fairchild was suspended in a shimmering chrysalis of darkness. From a grate above her, moonlight poured in. It illuminated the figures around her—one standing above her, many on the steps below, fighting. But the light did not seem to touch Jocelyn.

It was Clary who stood over her, hand on her mother’s heart. Her eyes were closed. On the steps below, the rest of the team was battling Valentine's soldiers.

“It's Jocelyn's spell!” Magnus shouted over the din. “Clary’s doing something to it!”

“Can you fix it?” Alec yelled.

“I have to get up there!”

Alec’s jaw clenched. He drew his bow.

“I’ll cover you. Go!”

Magnus dove forward.

Another wave of darkness rippled through the air, sharper this time. Alec shot two Forsaken down and Magnus blasted back another. Another shockwave, even stronger. Alec dispatched another Forsaken and they advanced another step before a seraph blade came swinging towards Magnus. He ducked, sweeping his arm out, casting a shielding spell. He stood again, and saw a traitor shadowhunter above them. Robed in black, baring their teeth.

In a single motion, Alec stowed his bow and whipped out his seraph blade. The two shadowhunters met with a gasp of adamas. Then a shockwave distracted them and Magnus took the opening—he coiled a whip of blue fire round the shadowhunters leg, unbalancing him, and Alec knocked him out.

They were mere steps away from Clary now. Magnus turned back to Alec, opening his mouth—to say what, he didn’t know—but before he could, a blaze of darkness blasted from the steps above, the darkest yet.

Magnus blinked in the returning light. “Alec—” he began.

“Just go!” yelled Alec. Another wave was building. Alec turned, meeting another attacker, and, with difficulty, Magnus turned away.

Magnus cleared the last few steps. He squinted into the impossible black light at the top. At the center, Clary, her hand on her mother’s heart. Her eyes closed. Both of them glowing.

“Clary!” he shouted. “Clary!”

Clary’s eyes snapped open.

“Magnus!”

“Clary, how are you doing that?” he yelled.

“I don’t know! I think I’m charging the spell!” Clary shouted back. “Is everyone here?”

“Yes!”

“Can you open a portal?” she yelled.

For a second, Magnus’s mouth opened in awe—this girl, this art student, her hand in the core of a cosmically powerful spell—wasn’t fazed. She knew exactly what had to be done.

He yelled, “Hold on!” Magnus snapped his fingers, waving his arms, and the portal sprang open.

Another wave pulsed out of Jocelyn and the portal swallowed up part of the beam. It cut a hole in the beams of darkness. Everyone looked up.

“Go!” yelled Magnus.

Clary put both her hands on her mother’s shoulders and pushed her towards the portal, out of the moonlight.

“Think of the Institute, and hold onto her!” Magnus yelled.

Clary nodded, gritted her teeth, and pushed her mother through. Both women vanished.

The room flooded with moonlight, which it seemed Jocelyn had been blocking. Some of the fighters below faltered in the change in light.

Magnus raised his arms, widening the portal.

“Everybody, up here!”

An Idris shadowhunter appeared and jumped through. Four more followed, one after another, one clutching a gash in his side. The Idris team leader came a second later, then Mayrse, spattered in blood. Two more from Idris, then one more. Magnus grabbed his arm.

“Who’s left?” Magnus yelled to him.

“Just the Lightwoods!” he yelled back, and stepped through.

Magnus’s heart thumped. The portal roared in his ears. _Where’s Alec?_

“Magnus!”

Magnus turned. His boyfriend, out of breath and bloody, stood on the step below.

“Did Jace go through?” he yelled.

“No!”

“Where is he?” shouted Alec.

“He got captured!” came a cry. Izzy, whip in hand, was running up towards them.

“He _what?_ ” yelled Alec.

“They captured him, I saw it!” Izzy yelled, reaching the top of the steps. “We have to go!”

Alec’s eyes bulged. “We can’t _leave_ him!”

“We have to!” yelled Izzy. “More are coming!”

“But—”

“Alec, we have to go!” Magnus shouted, grabbing his arm.

“Don’t you _da_ —” Too late. Magnus yanked him and Izzy through the portal and closed it behind them.

*   *   *

_ December 14, 2016 _

_ Waning Gibbous _

The stars were barely out tonight. The few that New York’s light pollution didn’t blot out were dimmed by the just-past-full moon. Magnus stared at the moon and sighed. It was the night after Boston Harbor, and he was standing by the window in his loft, drink in one hand, the other hand on the back of his armchair. Alec was coming over soon.

He thought about Clary and her mother. Once back at the Institute, he had been able to stop the shockwaves (they seemed to be a defense mechanism from Dot’s spell), but she was still unconscious. Jocelyn was in the Institute infirmary being examined. They told him, if they couldn’t wake her, he could take another stab at it. They’d spent today trying, supposedly. _Please,_ Magnus thought. _As if._ Dot’s spell was powerful, one of the most powerful he’d ever seen. No shadowhunter would be able to undo it.

Clary had been relieved, but exhausted. Magnus had watched her hug a wide-eyed Luke, taking deep, shuddering breaths. Luke had stared at Jocelyn, motionless in her rippling cocoon, relief and terror and love written all over his face. Magnus had found it all quite touching. Especially when Clary fell asleep by her mother’s side, and Izzy had covered her with a knit blanket. Magnus recalled the way Izzy had gazed an extra moment at the sleeping redhead. He smiled at the invisible stars.

But the mission hadn’t been a complete success. They had lost Jace. Alec, most of all, had been furious. Magnus had spent today trying to track him, but so far, nothing. For now, at least, they knew he was alive.

Magnus heard a knock at his door. _Alec_. He sat down hastily, then waved his hand and unlocked the front door.

Alec appeared in the door. But instead of the usual warmth he brought to Magnus’s home, Magnus felt tension in his stomach.

“Alexander,” Magnus said in greeting.

Alec stopped in the doorway. “Hi Magnus.”

Magnus waved his glass casually. “It’s a beautiful night.”

Alec, still hovering in the doorway, glanced out the windows. “Yeah.”

Something was bothering his stoic boyfriend—how to get it out of him?

“Shall we go out on the balcony?” said Magnus, rising from his chair.

Alec looked back at Magnus without meeting his eyes. “Sure,” he said.

Magnus snapped, opening the French doors, and stepped out into the brisk night air. Moonlight painted everything silvery-white, so bright on the windows that he couldn’t see back into his own apartment.

Alec followed him out, gently closing the door. Magnus watched him close his eyes and breathe in the cool air.

“How are the Frays?” Magnus asked.

“They’re fine,” said Alec.

“And Isabelle?”

“Everyone’s fine,” said Alec. He opened his eyes and finally met Magnus’s.

There was a pause.

“And you?” said Magnus gently.

Alec shifted. “I’m... fine.”

“Well good,” said Magnus. “I’m glad we had this urgent heart-to-heart, Alec.”

Alec laughed, looking at his feet. Smiling, Magnus leaned against the railing, gazing at his boyfriend. The moonlight touched his cheek as gently as Magnus wanted to—but he did not. He just smiled at him.

Alec looked up. He was still smiling, but his eyes were sad, bright in the moonlight. He gazed at Magnus, and his smile slowly faded. Leaning back against the railing next to Magnus, he put his hands in his pockets. His hazel eyes were wide, his eyebrows knit sadly, and Magnus felt his heart start to splinter.

“Magnus...” said Alec quietly.

“What is it?”

Alec’s eyes twitched as if to look away, but he held Magnus’s gaze. “I... I can’t be with you.”

Magnus froze.

“We can’t stay together, Magnus,” said Alec. “I’m just going to break your heart.”

“Alec...” Magnus straightened up off the railing. “If this is about yesterday, in the fort... It was just instinct,” he said. “If it had been Jace, or Clary, you know I would have done the...”

“No, Magnus,” said Alec, folding his arms. “Even it was just instinct, that kind of... I don’t know, self-sacrificial attitude, it’s upsetting.”

“I understand. I’m sorry,” Magnus said. “It won’t happen again.”

Alec raised his eyebrows at him.

“Magnus, you know it’s not just that,” said Alec. “If it was just one incident, we could work it out. But it’s not just that. It’s ...everything. The whole situation. It’s. It’s not healthy.”

“What situation?” demanded Magnus.

“You’re immortal!” said Alec. “I’m not! It’s not fair, it’s not fair to you!”

“Alec, we talked about this!” said Magnus. “I know how to deal with it.”

“Clearly, you don’t!” said Alec, throwing up his hands. “You tried to take a bullet for me! I’m a warrior, Magnus. Protecting people is _my_ job. I don’t think you understand that about me. And I’m going to die, whether in battle or of old age—and you’ll still be alive. Without me. If it was the other way around, I can’t—I can’t _imagine_ how—”

“It’s my burden, Alexander,” said Magnus, folding his arms. “I don’t need you telling me what I can or cannot deal with.”

“But it’s not just your burden!” said Alec. “I have to spend our whole relationship imagining how badly I’m going to hurt you!”

“Don’t think about it, then!” said Magnus flippantly.

Alec glared at him. He pushed off the railing and walked away a few steps, turning his back on Magnus.

“It’s selfish of me, to stay with you,” said Alec over his shoulder, “When you’re the one who will suffer for it. And the longer I stay with you, the more it will hurt.”

Magnus swallowed. He felt like a stake was being hammered through his heart.

“I’ve done it before,” he said to Alec’s back. “I can handle it.”

“No, you can’t,” said Alec quietly. “I saw you, Magnus.”

Magnus frowned. “What?”

Alec bowed his head, and turned around. His face was drained of color. He had something in his hand. “When I was in the coma,” he said. “When you thought I was going to die. I saw you.”

He held out his hand. Something glittered. Magnus frowned, stepping towards his outstretched hand.

“What is that...?”

It was a shard of glass. Frosted glass. Magnus cocked his head.

He looked up at Alec.

“Piece of a lightbulb,” Alec said.

Magnus flinched.

“You can’t,” said Alec, his voice almost a whisper. “You can’t let me do that to you, Magnus.”

Magnus opened his mouth. For once, he struggled to find words.

“You can’t stop me from... from...” Magnus’s protests died on his lips. He looked down at the gleaming glass again. For a second, the curved glass shone with memory and nightmare—Alec, body writhing and bleeding, Alec, lying still as death. Alec, gone. Magnus’s heart twisted.

“You can’t let me do that to you,” Alec repeated, whispering. “I won’t. I won’t do it.”

Magnus looked up, into Alec’s hazel eyes. They were wet, frowning and wide at once. His heavy lashes, each one shining in the moonlight. So beautiful, so kind.

“Alexander...” Magnus reached up, placed his hand against Alec’s cheek. Alec’s eyes fluttered shut. “Please.”

Alec shook his head mutely. He shook his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them.

Magnus stared for one last second. Then Alec stepped back, and Magnus’s hand fell through empty air. The shadowhunter turned and disappeared through the door. A small noise followed him. Magnus looked down, and saw the lightbulb shard fall to the ground, shatter into glittering dust.


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 5! this chapter has one of my favorite scenes, the christmas tree shopping one. it was one of the first scenes i thought of when i began vaguely conceiving of this story. 
> 
> content warning: jace is having some pretty major ptsd stuff in this chapter. it's not graphic/specific, just emotional.
> 
> chapter 6 will be up monday night, and hopefully i'll also be posting the mix for this fic, so keep an eye out for that. hope everyone has a nice halloween weekend!

_The day after I had counted down all of your breaths down until_

_There were none, were none, were none, were none;_

_A hummingbird crashed right in front of me and I understood_

[ [from](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMWEwXilWhA) ]

5.

Jace awoke in a blaze of light. He tensed, ready to fight whatever had sent that shockwave—but his hands were bound—and—

It was sunlight. He was not in the pillar room, he saw, but a small, old-fashioned bathroom. There was a claw-footed tub, and the floor was made of those little octagon tiles.

_What the fuck?_

Jace squinted in the sunlight. He tested the binds on his wrists and ankles. Tight. His head felt heavy—or maybe the floor was tilting. And below it all, a creepy sense of familiarity... Like he had dreamed about this room.

Jace looked more slowly around the bathroom. It was old. The mirror had spots.

_Wait—the mirror._

Jace remembered the mirror shard from the pillar room. What if this one—if he could just stand up and look—

He staggered up, and immediately fell over.

 _Shit._ Lying on the tile floor, he could see the dusty under-bath area. It was dark and really god damn dusty, like an inch of...

Jace’s heart started pounding. There was something under there, in the dust. He tried to reach, remembered he was tied. He puffed his cheeks and blew on the decade-deep dust. It parted slowly, like a snowdrift, revealing more and more of the little object. _Oh god,_ he thought. _Is that...?_

It was. A little green army man, on his tiny green platform. He had a tiny knife in each hand, and on his back, on his arms, someone had etched tiny, shaky symbols. Runes.

Jace’s breath quickened. Of course, of course they brought him here, how could he have forgotten—how could he have thought—

The bathroom door burst open.

“Your father wants to see you.”

They pulled him roughly through the halls of his childhood home. Jace was still in shock, his body locked except for his shallow breaths. When they left him in the drawing room, he found they’d removed his restraints.

Jace looked slowly around the room. He was hardly breathing. He had never, ever believed he would or could come back here, it was—it was impossible... The same embroidered couch, lace curtains, French doors—the yellow wallpaper, the climbing pattern he still saw, some nights, in dreams—the walls were leaning in, the white ceiling was rising, like he was going deeper and deeper into a canyon, the walls getting closer together—squeezing, pressing his ribcage, Jace couldn’t breathe, he was going deeper, deeper, further back than he ever thought he could or wanted but maybe did—

“Jonathan.”

Jace whipped around. His father. He was sitting on the couch. Jace didn’t wonder if he had been there the whole time—there was no way to know. Around his father, he couldn’t trust his eyes or his memory. He was there now. For now, that was all that could matter.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Jace lied.

Valentine—and he looked like Valentine, not like Jace’s father, which was something to be thankful for—crossed his legs and gestured to an armchair. “Won’t you sit down?”

Jace walked over and sat.

“This used to be where we entertained guests,” his father said, gesturing around the room. He pointed aat Jace, immobile in his seat. “The high inquisitor once sat in that chair, you know. Inquisitor Herondale.” He smiled wistfully. “She was younger then. Not so cranky. Ah, well. No time to get nostalgic. We have work to do.”

Jace listened mutely. He was breathing.

“I know you have questions,” Valentine said. “I will answer them all, if you choose to stay.”

“If... what?” Jace croaked. He cleared his throat. “If I choose what?”

“To stay,” said his father. “I’m building something here, Jace. I’m going to overthrow the Clave and bring peace to our world. All the pieces are coming together now. There’s just one thing missing.”

He looked at Jace.

“My son.”

Jace stared back.

“What good is it to rule the world without my loved ones?” his father said. “And, of course, it’s no good to capture you here, hold you against your will. I would only want you to stay if you wanted to stay. If it made _you_ happy.”

His father clapped his hands, and the french doors behind him swung open, letting in the warm wind and blinding sunlight. The rolling hills of their estate. Freedom.

“I’m giving you the choice, Jace,” his father said. “Choose to stay here with me, or go.”

Jace stared out the doors. He could just walk right out? Right now? That couldn’t be true.

Then Valentine clapped again and the doors slammed shut, the curtains swishing back. His father stood up.

“Of course, you’ll need some time to deliberate,” he said. “It’s not a simple choice, and not one you’ll hear twice. I’ll give you five days to decide.”

Jace had no idea what day it even was. He just wanted to get out of this salon. He nodded, and stood too.

“I’ll have someone take you up to your room.”

“My room?” Jace said.

“Of course,” said his father. “It’s still there. Just as you left it.”

Jace’s stomach turned over. He did _not_ want to go there.

“Is there... someplace else I could stay?” Jace asked.

Valentine frowned. “Why?”

“I just—I’d rather not go in there,” Jace said. His heart was thumping again. He didn’t want to upset his father, but he also _really_ didn’t want to go there.

“I’m being kind enough to extend this invitation to you, Jonathan,” Valentine said. “I don’t see what’s wrong with your bedroom.”

“Please—” Jace’s lungs were pumping again. He thought he might start screaming. “Not there—”

“Guards!” shouted Valentine. He looked away from his son in disgust. “Take him back to the bathroom. Maybe he’ll be ready for my generosity in the morning.”

As they dragged him out, Jace heard his father’s voice one more time:

“Think about your choice, Jonathan...”

Back in the bathroom, they slammed the door shut. Jace couldn’t recall the walk from the drawing room back there—it didn’t matter.

He climbed into the empty bathtub and pulled the curtain shut. He remembered this bathroom now—it was part of some guest wing. As a child, he hadn’t been in it much. Closing his eyes, he slid down into the coffinlike space of the tub. He breathed. The sensory experience of his childhood home, all at once, the memories and the guilt and familiarity and fear—it was too much. Here, in the anonymous dust of a distantly familiar room, he was safe.

 _I need to get out of here,_ Jace thought. He looked up at the shower curtain. _And I can. But should I?_

He felt his father’s presence around him as close as the white walls. Deep, deeper than language or memory, the voice of his father. Pressing down on him. Holding him there. Jace stared at the rings holding up the shower curtain, weighing his options. Trying to gauge himself, who he was, how he’d been raised, and who he’d become. If he was strong enough.

* * *

_December 16, 2016_

_Waning Gibbous_

Magnus was trying to wake Jocelyn. It was the second day and he had yet to glean anything about the spell. None of the usual tests had yielded anything. This one—dust of dragon bone—was also inconclusive. He sighed and waved his hand, sending the powder into a cloud.

He was glad, he reflected, opening a drawer in his desk, that he had this work to occupy himself. Otherwise he’d probably drive himself crazy trying not to get in touch with Alexander. Stupid, caring, foolish Alexander. He found the paper he was looking for and shut the drawer.

Back in the living room, Magnus raised his hand over the hovering Jocelyn Fray. His fingers danced, his voice rang out with the incantation. Sparks flew out—and bounced off. _Sigh._

It was stupid, he thought, crumpling the paper. Alec, breaking up with him just because, like this. He was scared, that was all. The man had never been in a relationship, he hadn’t even been _out_ till a few months ago. How could Magnus blame him for flinching?

He had just... expected more of Alec—more trust, more understanding.

Magnus had been hurt by death before. And it was not unbearable. Close, but not unbearable. Magnus was strong, he knew he was strong enough. He knew he was. It didn’t matter that the short time he’d spent with Alec had been the happiest in recent memory, the time of the most hope. For once the foreseeable future had felt secure, something to look forward to. Like a solid wooden dock on a beautiful, peaceful lake. Did it matter that the dock had an end? An end in deep, dark water?

Alec thought it did matter. Magnus didn't want it to.

Magnus sighed again, reaching for his supply kit. He took out a sprig of hemlock and started plucking the tiny needles. He hadn’t called or texted Alec, no matter how much he wanted to. That his boyfriend needed time was unquestionable and justified. But it wasn't over. And Magnus had other concerns.

The hemlock needles drifted down and burned up on Jocelyn's force field. Magnus watched the last one fizzle into nothingness.

He looked at his supplies, trying to decide what to try next... He pulled out a glass bottle and unscrewed the eyedropper lid. Delicately, he squeezed a single drop out, onto Jocelyn.

It hit her bubble and, sizzling, bored through it. With a sound like oil on a pan, the liquid hit her hand and evaporated. Magnus's eyebrows shot up. It left a faint red mark on her skin.

“Interesting...” he said aloud. His voice was hoarse. Magnus cleared his throat. This was interesting. The first thing to bore through her protection was... Komodo venom? That was highly unusual.

Magnus jumped to his feet. He crossed the room and waved his arm, and the lamps on the wall trembled. The whole cement wall began to rumble, cracks appearing, a light glowing behind. The whole wall burst, the cement vanishing into dust. Behind, Magnus's secret library waited, dusty and glowing. He lowered his arm and stepped in.

It was a tomb-sized with a handful of precious tomes, and artifacts valuable but not attractive enough to put on display. Magnus ran his fingers over the boney spines. Where was... _aha_. He pulled out the Medieval Codex he had “borrowed” so long ago from Ragnor, and flipped to the chapter with... yes... there it was.

“Interesting,” muttered Magnus.

* * *

“This is it then?”

Maia, Lily, and Alec were standing in front of a mirror in the New York Historical Society Library and Museum. After almost a week of tedious (in Maia's opinion) research, they were “experts” on enchanted mirrors. They were chasing down their third of what Luke called “leads” but calling them that was (in Maia's opinion) a stretch. Alec, restless at the Institute, had come along.

“Yep,” said Lily.

Maia looked at her museum brochure. Lily looked at the yellowing pages of _A Shadowhunter’s_ _Guide to Seelie Treasures._

“‘Melted with sand from a beach in Mangareva Island, Polynesia, and framed with silver from the Himalayas, this sought-after Seelie mirror is arguably either enchanted, or cursed. It is said that every half moon, it will show the looker the most beautiful version of themselves,” read Lily.

“Bought by King Blah Blah in 15-whatever,” Maia read from her brochure, “This gilt-framed mirror was his favorite until one day, cursing, he cast it out his window, cracking the glass. Legend has it that when he broke the glass, he released a curse... etcetera etcetera, given to the library trust, blah blah, who cares.”

They looked at the cracked, old mirror. It was too foggy and scratched to see anything, really. Maia glanced at Alec, who returned her look, then at Lily.

“I do _not_ think Valentine’s plans require a Mirror of Erised for vain people,” said Maia. “I still think our best bet is the teleport mirrors. This is a waste of time.”

Lily just looked at her.

“Look, can we go?” said Maia. “This library is almost closed, and we have to go see the other one.”

Lily sighed and turned, leading them away. She pulled out her phone and on the checklist, checked off _beauty mirror_. Next on the list: _opinion mirrors._

As they neared the exit, Lily’s phone rang. She picked up.

“Hello?” said Lily, slowing down in the lobby. “Hello Magnus. Yes, we’re looking in—Luke explained...?”

Maia glanced at Lily, hesitating, but Alec sped up. He pushed out the front doors with a clack.

Maia followed him out. It was a bright New York night at only 5 PM. Maia had never much liked long winter nights, but Lily said winter was her favorite season because she could get out much earlier. An ugly sleet was falling from the orange sky. Maia zipped up her coat. _Sleet_. Reminded her of New Jersey.

“Lily’s probably setting up our appointment with Magnus,” Maia explained. “He’s been hard to reach.”

“Makes sense.”

“Is something wrong?”

“We broke up,” said Alec bluntly, glancing at her but not her eyes.

Maia’s eyebrows rose. “Oh.”

He swayed, looking away.

“I’m gonna get going,” he said. “This was... Good luck with everything.”

“See you,” Maia said. He was already trotting down the stone steps, hands in his pockets. Lily came out a moment later, looking at her phone.

“Magnus is being difficult... said he can’t meet us till the...” She finally looked up. “Where’s Alec?” she said.

“He left,” said Maia. She grimaced. “I don’t even know why he came in the first place.”

“I think he’s bored,” said Lily.

“He said he and Magnus broke up,” Maia said.

Lily nodded thoughtfully, as if everything now made sense. “Well,” she said. “Magnus can’t meet till Tuesday. Busy with Jocelyn, or moping, I guess. We can check out those perception mirrors in the meantime, ok?”

“Sure,” said Maia with a sigh. “How about tomorrow night?”

“Great,” said Lily. “See you then.”

* * *

_December 17, 2016_

_Waning Gibbous_

Clary paused the episode and sat up.

“Izzy,” she said. “What day is it?”

“The 17th. Why?”

Clary looked over at her.

“We have to get a tree!”

“A what now?” said Izzy.

“It’s December 17th! We need a Christmas tree!”

“Oh, said Izzy. She looked back at her phone. “Like the pine tree? The one you bring into your house so it can drop needles everywhere? No thanks.”

“So shadowhunters don't do Christmas?” Clary said, heart sinking.

“Not really,” said Izzy. She made a combo in Candy crush and watched the fish flutter. “Religion is sort of moot.”

“But I mean, Christmas isn't about religion,” said Clary. “Not anymore.”

“Oh right,” said Izzy, looking up. “It's about consumerism and home invaders now right?”

Clary gave her a look. “No, it's about family. Being with the people you care about.”

“And you will be!” said Izzy, sitting up.

“Not all of them!” said Clary. She thought of her mother, imprisoned in a bubble. She thought of Jace, imprisoned in parts unknown. Luke was the only family she had right now.

“Right ...” said Izzy, watching Clary's falling expression. “Jace.”

“And my mom,” Clary added, defensively. She wasn't sure why.

Izzy slumped back in her seat. “Mhm.”

“Well I'm going to get a tree, said Clary. “Will you come?”

Izzy didn't look up from Candy Crush. “No, you go ahead,” she said.

Clary folded her arms. _Really?_ “Fine,” she said. She stood. “Do you know where Alec is?”

“Probably bak—”

“Never mind, I know,” said Clary, and left.

 _What was that about?_ she thought. Izzy could be so moody sometimes. Just because Clary was a shadowhunter by blood didn’t mean she was going to throw her whole life aside like ballast. There were some mundane things worth keeping and, in her opinion, Christmas was one of them.

She reached the kitchen. “Alec?”

Sure enough, there he was, where he had been for most of the past few days. Mechanically whisking by the sink. He looked up, and she saw with a jolt that his eyes were red.

She tried not to appear to notice. “Hey, Alec, I need to run an errand. You want to come with?”

Alec just looked at her.

“I’m going to get a Christmas tree,” she said. “Thought you might want to come get some fresh air.”

“...Alright,” he said.

“Really?” she said.

“I said alright,” said Alec. Keeping his unimpressed gaze fixed on her, he dumped the mixture into the sink—it looked like more brownie mix. The garbage disposal intoned its appreciation. The Lightwoods were not in good spirits today.

It was a two hour train ride to get to the farm in Long Island, and Alec was unusually fidgety. When they finally disembarked in suburbia, it was nearly 4:30 and snowy. Clary explained that, traditionally, her mom and Luke and often Simon too, came out this far to chop the tree down themselves. “I find the chopping therapeutic,” said Clary as a joke. She didn’t, really. Killing things wasn’t her idea of therapy.

“So why didn’t you bring Simon?” Alec asked.

Clary pointed at the sky. Overcast and spitting snowflakes. “Daylight. Vampire. Remember?”

Alec raised his eyebrows. “Right.”

 _For god’s sake,_ Clary thought. They never had the decency to even remember anything about Simon, did they?

“Sun’s almost down anyway,” Alec pointed out.

“Well maybe I _should_ have brought him instead,” said Clary, shoving her hands in her pockets.

They strode into the tree farm, and the smell of hemlock hit. Clary stopped. Memories pierced her, filling her with visions of decorating, the beautiful baubles and tacky trinkets her mom would hang on the tree, the soft rainbow of lights, the smell of sugar cookies, the damp edge of snow in the air—all of it gone now, never to be the same. Her eyes filled with tears. She felt a physical pain in her chest, where her family had always been—in some ways it hurt more than the Silent Brothers had. And yes, they were still alive, yes, they would all be reunited, yes she had a larger circle now of people who, bad moods or not, really did care for her. But oh, god, to go back... Maybe she would appreciate what she’d had.

“Uh,” Alec said. “Clary?”

She managed a high-pitched, “Mhm?”

“What do we do?” he said, pointing to the bustling entrance area. Adults milling around, holding wreaths, while snow-suited child orbs bounced across the gravel. “Do we rent an axe?”

She looked up at Alec. “Yeah, yeah, um, we borrow a saw...”

“Are you okay?” he said, seeing her face.

“Just the wind,” she said, hastily wiping her eyes.

He frowned. “It’s not that windy.”

She shoved her hands back in her pockets. “It’s fine.”

“Your mom,” he said. “You miss her.”

There was a lump in her throat. She tried to swallow it down. “Y—yeah.”

Alec nodded.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said. “Magnus is—the. I mean. She’ll be awake soon.”

Clary cocked her head.

“How is everything?” she asked, trying to sound gentle. “With you and, and Magnus?”

“None of your business, actually,” said Alec curtly.

Clary raised her eyebrows and looked away. Her first instinct was defensive, to throw up her hands and give up on him. But looking at the tree-shopping crowd, she thought of her mother and Luke, hanging stockings in their loft. She missed them, missed being together, _so_ much. That world was gone, but hadn’t it taught her something?

She looked back at Alec. “It’s,” she said. “It’s not just her, it’s not just her I miss. I miss my old life.”

Alec watched her.

“Everything is different now,” Clary said, “And I’m getting used to it, I’m getting used to the shadowhunter life. I guess going to college would have been a whole new world, too. It’s just part of growing up, you know? Leaving things behind. It just...” She squeezed her eyes shut. “It just hurts.”

Clary felt snowflakes hitting her face, each melting in a tiny breath.

“There’s nothing deeper to say about it, I guess,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Life’s different. It’s a new life... and it’s just different. And the old one’s gone.”

Clary finally opened her eyes. It seemed that in the moment she had closed her eyes, the sun had finished setting behind the blanket of clouds. It was dark, and snow was falling thickly. Alec was still looking at her, looking, for once, not blank or irritated. He looked sad. He nodded.

“But,” said Clary, “There’s one thing I can still do: get a Christmas tree.”

They got a handsaw and walked through the grove, the snow falling thicker and faster. After a civil back-and-forth, they settled on a medium-small tree with a nice silhouette. Clary showed Alec how to cut it, then held the top of it while he sawed. He lay on his stomach in the snowy gravel, steadily sawing. It was always slow-going with these dull saws, but he didn’t seem to mind.

After a minute or so, she heard him wince. The sawing paused.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said, voice muffled through the branches. “Just my shoulder.”

“Have you been doing PT?” she said.

There was a pause. “Harder without Jace,” Clary heard from under the tree.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I miss him too.”

The tree shook as Alec resumed sawing.

“So, I know it’s none of my business,” said Clary after another moment. “But if you wanted to talk... about how you’re doing...”

The tree shook.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“You bake a lot of brownies for someone who’s fine,” she said.

The tree stopped moving. “It’s a long story, Clary,” he said, “Not one I really feel like explaining from under a tree, okay?”

“Fine,” said Clary as the sawing resumed. “I’m just trying to help. I forgot you hate talking about feelings.” She hadn’t forgotten, she just thought he had learned.

He sighed audibly. “It’s complicated. Magnus is immortal, I’m not. He says it’s fine, he doesn’t mind if I die, _‘tis better to have loved and lost_ and all that. I don’t agree. Irreconcilable differences. We broke up.”

The tree shivered in Clary’s hands. Alec kept sawing.

“That’s... not that complicated,” Clary pointed out.

Alec didn’t answer.

“And anyway, I didn’t actually ask _why_ you broke up,” Clary said. “I asked how you were _doing_.”

The tree stilled.

“I’m fine,” said Alec again. “It’s... difficult, but, it’s better than the alternative.” He resumed sawing, faster now. The tree wobbled.

“The alternative?” said Clary.

“Building a life together,” Alec said, as the sawing increased in pitch, “Then abandoning Magnus.”

“You think you’re abandoning him by dying?” Clary said incredulously. “It’s not your f—”

There was a zipping crack sound and the tree fell. Done. Clary held on, supporting it as Alec stood. He dusted himself off and looked at Clary. He had dirt and a frank expression on his face.

“There’s two choices for us, Clary,” said Alec. “Either I let Magnus take the burden of my death, or I take the burden of breaking us up so he doesn’t have to suffer. Two awful options, but it’s an obvious decision. Like you said. Nothing deeper to say.”

Clary felt there was a _lot_ more deep to say about this. “Your relationship doesn’t have to be mutually assured destruction,” she said. “If you just—”

“Here,” interrupted Alec, “Let me.” He wrapped his arms around the tree and picked it up, awkwardly. He tried to hold it vertically, but didn’t know where to grip. He winced again. It slipped down.

“Oh my god,” said Clary, and she crouched, grabbing the bottom of the trunk. “Like this.”

“What—Oh.”

Alec took hold of the top, Clary adjusted her grip, and they carried it together.

They walked to the cashier, paid, and out to the parking lot. Clary pulled out her phone, opening up Uber. Alec, supporting the tree next to her, cleared his throat.

“Thanks. For listening,” he said without looking at her. “To my griping.”

Clary looked up from her phone, surprised. “Don’t mention it,” she said. “I know you don’t like talking. About anything. Especially to me.”

Alec huffed, his small laugh puffing into a cloud in the snow-filled air.

“Thanks for helping me get this tree,” she added. “Maybe my mom will be awake in time to see it.”

Alec nodded, looking at the parking lot. Then he looked back at her.

“Listen... Clary,” he said. “I miss Jace too. If you ever, uh. If you ever want to talk about him, I know a thing or two about... About complicated Jace feelings.”

She stared at Alec, surprised at him. Surprised too, that her stomach did not flip-flop at the mention of her old feelings for Jace.

“That’s...”

“Clary!”

A familiar voice was shouting her name. Clary looked away at the bustling parking lot and saw a yellow van, and someone holding two wreaths, waving his arms.

“Oh my god! Simon!”

Clary ran over and hugged her friend. He squeezed her tight, the wreaths prickling her cheeks.

“What are you doing here?” she asked when they let go.

“Raphael wanted holiday cheer,” said Simon. “He said if I got Christmas decorations we could put out a menorah too. Then I remembered coming here with you and your family, so I decided to take a trip down memory lane. I can't believe I ran into you guys! Do you need a ride home?”

A few moments and some finagling later, all three of them were in the van with the tree and wreaths. Simon started the car and a deep, familiar voice rumbled from the speakers.

“So many questions, so many possible answers,” intoned the voice, “And like the title of that much-beloved picture book classic, _How Many Lies?_ ”

“Oh, are you listening to _Night Vale_?” said Clary excitedly.

“Yes!” said Simon. “It’s giving me so many ideas for our graphic novel.”

“Oh, I know,” said Clary. “I’ve always wanted to try drawing the crazy cat...”

“Can you turn it down, please?” said Alec’s voice from the back. Simon lowered the volume.

They drove through Long Island, snow zooming through the headlights. Simon told her a little about vampire diplomacy and a downworlder diner they had been going to, that she just _had_ to try. Outside, it was dark and beautiful. The podcast thrummed.

“Listeners, I do not know everything about Carlos and he does not tell me everything,” the speaker was saying. He was talking about his boyfriend. “That is okay. We are not one person. How lonely that would be! A couple who has made themselves one so completely, that they are once again alone. We are two people, separate. Unique. And joined only where we choose to join.”

Simon had paused his story to listen. “Aw,” he said, quietly. Clary smiled at him.

“What is this?” asked Alec from the back.

“It’s called _Welcome to Night Vale,_ ” Clary said. “You like it? I can send you a link.”

Alec hesitated. “Sure,” he said.

* * *

“Almost closing time,” a security guard said as he passed them.

“Thanks,” said Lily dryly to him.

Maia and Lily were striding through the halls of the Brooklyn Historical Society, following up on their next “lead”—a pair of perception mirrors. They found them in the antiquities wing. While Maia kept watch, Lily heaved open the _Shadowhunter’s Guide to Seelie Treasures_ and found the right page.

“Okay... ‘Made in the early 300s by a suspicious warlock, this pair of mirrors has a special... blah blah...’ Okay here we go: ‘The mirror needs two users. Each looks in one and sees the other’s perception of them. What they think when they look at you.’” She raised her eyebrows at the page. “It says he used it for political negotiations...”

Maia stepped closer to the display. They were two small silver-framed mirrors, back-to-back in a glass case. The explanatory plaque said the same thing, about the other person’s perception, except that it was a ‘legend.’ Any mundane or person without the Sight would only see their reflection.

“I don’t see how this would be of any use to Valentine either,” said Maia, looking in. She saw her reflection, normal, clothes and hair damp from the storm.

“Yeah...” said Lily thoughtfully. She looked up from the book, and stepped in front of the other mirror.

With a shimmer, Maia’s reflection transformed—but just a little. She was standing taller, her shoulders back. Her jaw was set, and her clothes were rumpled but she could see she had a bit of muscle. And she could see her neck—no makeup. Her scar, pale and mottled, was visible. Was she prettier, or just more confident? Maia felt herself blushing.

“Is...” She swallowed. She was transfixed by this version of herself. “Is this really how you see me?”

“What?” said Lily, from the other side. She was not looking at her reflection.

“I... um...” Maia didn’t know why but she felt a lump in her throat. This Maia in the mirror was...

“Oh, you can see the reflection?” Lily said, leaning round the display case. “Sorry, I didn’t think it would work for me. Since, you know. Vampire.”

Maia wiped her eyes quickly. “You can’t see yours?”

“No. Vampire,” Lily said. She frowned at Maia. “Are you okay?”

 _Stop crying, oh my god, you’re so embarrassing._ “I’m fine,” said Maia. “Just your...”

“Was it mean?” Lily said. “Did you have a mustache and goatee?”

Maia laughed. More tears sprang to her eyes and she ducked her head.. “No, not at all...” Lily handed her a crumpled napkin. She took it and wiped her eyes. With a deep breath, she lifted her head again. “It was just really sweet.”

“Oh...” said Lily.

She didn’t smile, but her dark eyes searched Maia’s understandingly. Maia felt like she was seeing her more clearly than she ever had.

“Come on. Dead end,” said Lily. “Let’s get going.”

She checked off this “lead” on her phone as they walked. Outside, the sleet had turned to real snow and the heavy orange clouds above seemed closer than ever. Maia looked with wide eyes at the vampire’s dark head, bobbing through the bright night. Maia wrapped her scarf around her neck, her makeup-covered scar prickling. Lily didn’t care. She thought Maia was strong, unashamed of her scars.

There was something so incredibly... _something_ about this perception Lily had of her. Maia couldn’t say exactly what. But she saw it again, her chin up, gaze calm, and tears sprang to her eyes once more.

* * *

_December 18, 2016_

_Waning Gibbous_

_Beep. Beep._

He wished it wasn’t a video call. His father was so dramatic.

 _Beep. Bee_ —“Hello?”

A man’s voice. For a second, Jace failed to place it, then he shook his head. Raj. Obviously.

“Hello,” said Valentine. “Is this the New York Institute?”

The rainbow wheel was spinning. “Who’s calling, please?”

Valentine made an annoyed noise. He didn’t seem to know how to turn on the video.

“It’s Jace,” said Valentine, and he angled the mic over to Jace. He stood, letting Jace take over. Jace swallowed, and put his hand on the mouse. He turned on the video feed.

“Hello?” he said.

“Jace?” said Raj’s voice. A grainy picture of the Institute floor bloomed on the screen in front of Jace. Raj’s head floated near the bottom. “Jace? Where are you?”

“Don’t worry, I’m f—” Jace cleared his throat. “I need to speak with the Lightwoods."

“Jace?” said a voice. Was that Izzy? “Oh my god, it’s—it’s Jace!” 

Voice shouted. Jace glanced at the little video of himself, with his father’s headless figure behind him, arms folded. In another moment, everyone was gathered around the screen, looking up at Jace.

“Jace!” they clamored. “Are you okay?” “Where are you?” “Who’s behind you?” “Are you alright?”

Jace looked at their faces one at a time, reminding himself. Izzy. Clary. Mayrse. Robert. And Alec. Alec was not moving or speaking. He just stared.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I’m with Va—with my father. And I’m staying.”

Silence.

Alec spoke. “What.”

“He offered me the choice, and I’m staying. I’m not a prisoner, I’m not being held against my will,” Jace said, deliberately and carefully. “This is where I want to be.” He looked at the grainy image of Alec. “With my father.”

“Jace, no—”

Izzy put her hand on Alec’s arm. He stared up at the camera, face furious.

“I’m okay, Alec. I don’t want you barging in here trying to save me. This is my choice. I’m staying.”

Clary had her hand over her mouth.

His father leaned down, bracing his hands on the desk on either side of Jace like the arches under a bridge. “No questions?” he said. “Great. Now please stop interrogating my agents about my son’s whereabouts. He is perfectly fine. We’ll talk soon, alright?”

The New York Institute was silent.

He reached for the mouse, then added, “Oh—and Clary.” He looked up to talk directly into the webcam. “Invitation’s still o—what happened?”

The call had hung up. Jace’s hand was off the mouse already. His father hadn’t seen.

“The wifi must have cut out,” Jace said. Valentine grunted.

*  *  *

“I can’t believe it,” said Clary, “I just...”

“I don’t believe it,” said Izzy, “It’s not possible. Jace would not stay with him. Not unless he was threatened. Or cursed. Do you think Valentine cursed him?”

“Stop it,” said Alec. “I would feel it if he was cursed.”

Clary sat down on a stool and buried her face in her hands. They were standing in the kitchen. The adults were having an urgent discussion in the op center, but talk of Jace switching sides or betraying them or being a spy—it was too much to listen to right now.

“It’s not a curse,” Alec was saying, “And I don’t think it’s a threat.”

“Then what is it?” said Izzy, throwing her hands up.

“Oldest trick in the book,” said Alec. “Plain old cycle of abuse.”

“Of what?” said Izzy.

“Of abuse, Izzy,” said Alec, cracking his knuckles. “Jace hero-worshipped his father but his father was _obviously_ emotionally _if not_ also physically abusive his whole life. He barely let him meet anyone else, just kept him cooped up and _trained_ him straight out of diapers like a mini marine—textbook stuff. That kind of dynamic, Jace was lucky when he got killed. Not lucky enough, I guess.” Alec rubbed his eyes and continued. “I wasn’t sure, I wasn’t sure if Jace was, I don’t know, recovered enough... I thought he had enough time... I thought he was...” Alec sighed. “Clearly, I was wrong. He wasn’t ready to see his father again. Now he’s under his spell again.”

Izzy leaned on the counter, her face miserable. But Clary raised her head.

“I don’t think he is,” she said.

The Lightwoods looked over at her.

“Is what?” said Izzy.

“I don’t think he’s under his father’s spell,” she said. “I think he’s faking him out.”

They stared.

“ _What?_ ” said Alec, viciously dismissive. “Sorry, Clary, but I’ve known him a _little_ longer than you, I think I—”

“No, she might be right,” said Izzy. “His father makes him weak, but Jace is strong. He’s lived half his life without Valentine. Valentine doesn’t know him anymore. I think he might be undercover.”

Alec closed his eyes, raising his hands and making noises. “N—no. No. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter if he thinks he’s collecting intel or, or taking Valentine down from the inside, it—he’s still back under his abuser’s control. We can’t leave him there. Even if he has a plan, extended exposure to his father is going to _hurt_ him _, badly._ We need to rescue him. Whether he wants it or not.”

Clary glanced at Izzy, who was frowning at her brother.

“It’s his life, Alec,” said Izzy. “We can’t make that call for him...”

“It’s _our_ life, actually,” snapped Alec. “We’re a family. He’s my parabatai. I know what he can handle, and time with his undead father is _not_ something he can handle.”

“But you just said you—” began Izzy, but Clary’s phone rang.

She picked up. “Magnus?” she said. “We’re kind of in the middle of...”

“Clary,” said Magnus. “It’s your mother. I figured out the spell. I’m ready to wake her up.”

* * *

Magnus heard Clary’s voice call from inside: “Magnus?”

“Out here,” said Magnus, opening the balcony door. She appeared a second later, followed by Izzy. The two shadowhunters stepped out onto the balcony, Clary wide-eyed, Izzy steadfast. “Finally some good news, eh biscuit?” he said.

This balcony was like an upper ledge on a desolate canyon wall. Up here, the sounds of the city below were swallowed in wind, and the stars above swallowed in city light. And the other balcony had some recent... bad memories.

Hovering above the concrete floor was Jocelyn in her chrysalis. Luke was waiting beside her. He hugged Clary, murmuring reassurances Magnus couldn’t hear. Clary nodded.

“So what’s the spell?” she asked, turning back to Magnus.

“Turns out it was from the _Book of the White_ ,” said Magnus, “An ancient, powerful spellbook that, fortunately, I know the owner of.” He pulled the paper from his pocket and began unfolding. “From there, it was just a matter of information bartering and light blackmail.”

He finished unfolding the paper with a flourish.

“You’ll want to stand back,” he said to the three of them. “And maybe hold on to something.”

Clary was staring, transfixed, at her mother, wind in her hair. Her eyes were shining. Gently, Izzy slipped her hand into Clary’s. Magnus saw Clary squeeze, almost instinctively, and Izzy blush a bit. Magnus held back a smile.

He raised the paper and began to speak.

“ _Jocelyn, echaudi verva vida_ ,” he intoned, waving his hand above her. Blue blossomed on the surface of her chrysalis. “ _Ook oguri leva veluson, a veri oculotuos. Liever at odum.._.” The force field was completely blue now, pulsing. “ _Leventium. Ejita. Ejita!_ ”

The force field was so bright it was almost blinding. Wind and light blasted from Jocelyn, so strong they almost couldn’t see her—Magnus stumbled back, hitting the railing, shielding his eyes—

“Mom!”

The light blinked away and there she was: Jocelyn. Standing, a little dizzy, but standing. Clary rushed to her and threw her arms around her.

“Clary...”

“Mom!” she said again with a sob. Her mother hugged her tight, and Clary sniffled, saying, “I’m sorry, sorry I’m crying—I’m just so, so happy to see you...”

“It’s okay, it’s okay...” Jocelyn, eyes closed, rubbed her daughter’s back. “You don’t have to apologize to me for that, sweetheart... I’m okay, you’re okay...”

Clary let out another sob, and buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. Her whole body shook. It was the kind of tears you had been holding in a long, long time.

“It’s okay...” Jocelyn murmured. She opened her eyes and for the first time, saw Luke, waiting by the railing.

For a moment, Magnus didn’t breathe. The way they looked at each other... Without touching, without a word.

Wind howled, curling between them and wrapping around them but neither moved. It was as if Magnus could see every year between them. He forgot they were a sixth his age and saw them, two parents, together but not quite, separated but always reuniting, never tired of each other... A sad smile spread across his face.

“Come here, you,” said Jocelyn, lifting a hand from Clary’s shoulder.

Luke, smiling but his eyes teary, embraced the Frays. The three of them stood, a little family, on the balcony for a long moment.

At last, they broke apart, and Jocelyn, with a last look at Luke and at Clary, stepped forward to Magnus.

“Magnus,” she said. “I have important information. I’ve been in stasis, but I was conscious for a lot of it, including in Valentine’s lab. I heard some of what he’s planning.”

“That’s great news,” Magnus said to her. “We’ve been trying to figure that out for months.”

“I don’t know who, but he has allies,” said Jocelyn. “An army. And they’re planning a siege on Idris.”

“Does it have something to do with the stuff he’s been collecting?” Clary asked. “The diamonds and the dinosaur bone and all that?”

“He’s collecting the parts to a spell,” Jocelyn said. “He knows about the vault, and he has a spell to break into it. We need to get to Idris.”

*  *  *

_Every night I ask myself, Am I giving enough?_

_Am I giving enough?_

_Am I giving enough?_

_Am I?_


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the [fic mix](http://8tracks.com/musabelle42/shattered-cup) is now up!

_But oh, my love, don't you even know?_

_And oh, my love, are you really gone?_

[ [epigraph from](https://youtu.be/DfGSqUmcqDk) ; [vigenère cipher](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vigen%C3%A8re_cipher) ; [eastman, quebec, canada](http://eastman.quebec/) ]

6.

_December 19, 2016_

_Third Quarter_

“Got everything?”

Clary looked up from her suitcase. Izzy was sticking her head through her bedroom door.

“Not much to get, but yeah,” said Clary.

She tossed her last pair of socks into the suitcase and swept her eyes round the room. Nothing of hers was left. Just the stained glass, the stone floor, the dark sheets—it was all a bit much. It had always been too sumptuous to feel like home. She missed her real home, her art on the walls and her four-poster bed. She wouldn’t miss this room.

“I’ll... miss the Institute, as a whole, I guess,” said Clary uncertainly.

“It’s only for a little while,” said Izzy. “Probably. Besides, you’re staying with us in Idris. Our house in Idris is much cozier.”

“Cozy? The Lightwoods? I doubt that,” Clary said teasingly. Izzy smiled.

Clary zipped up her suitcase and, with a last look around and a sigh, followed Izzy out into the hall.

The Institute was bustling with people carrying boxes and covering things with sheets. Everything valuable came with them, everything else went into storage. Clary gazed around one more time at the intimidatingly beautiful church she’d started to call home. The Institute was going into hibernation.

Shadowhunters from around the world were congregating in Idris. Word of Valentine’s planned siege had drawn everyone together, to fortify the capital and prepare defenses. Only a handful of New York Institute members were staying behind, like Raj, who was overseeing packing and departure. He stood with his tablet by the portal in the front hall, directing traffic. He spotted Clary and Izzy and raised his eyebrows in greeting.

“Hey, Raj,” said Clary. “Looking forward to some quiet time?”

“Hey,” he said distractedly. “What’s that? Isabelle, Alec and your parents already went through. They took your... luggage.” Clary suppressed a smile. If she knew Isabelle, she had probably packed a metric ton. “Clary, your mother went through, she’s in meetings with the Clave all day so she said don’t wait up... Luke has to stay in New York for now, but he’s coming to Idris for Christmas.” He added, “Oh—and Magnus sent a message. He said he transported your ‘tree’. I don’t know what that means, but...”

“Oh, great,” said Clary. “Thanks Raj.” She touched his arm lightly. “I hope you have a nice Christmas.”

He looked up from his tablet, and gave her a tight smile. “I’m sure the Lightwoods explained, we don’t really... _do_ religious holidays. From any religion. But I appreciate it. I hope you have a nice, uh Christmas, too.”

“See you soon, I hope,” said Izzy. “We’ll have Idris fortified and Valentine defeated no time.”

Raj raised an eyebrow. “I hope so.”

He turned back to the bustling Institute and started giving orders. Izzy turned to Clary.

“Ready to see the shadowhunters’ capital?” she said.

“I guess so,” said Clary. Instinctively, she put her arm through Izzy’s. Izzy slid her hand down and took Clary’s. Her hand was calloused and strong, and she squeezed Clary’s. Clary smiled gratefully, and together, they stepped through the portal.

* * *

_December 20, 2016_

_Third Quarter_

All the lights in Magnus’s house were off.

Magnus was patient. He was four hundred years old, of course he was patient. Nothing happened overnight.

That was why, he reminded himself, he did not mind reading through every book he owned, both the public and secret collections, trying to piece together what spell Valentine was working on. There were piles of books around him in the darkened apartment. Had Valentine uncovered the spell in some ancient text? Or perhaps he had created something new with the help of an enchanter? It seemed unlikely but...

Magnus’s phone lit up in the dark, and he jumped. Heart leaping, he picked it up—but it was just his calendar: _appt: lily and maia._ Not a text.

It was five days before Christmas. It had been six days now since Alec had left him standing on his balcony (but who was counting). Magnus wasn’t going to intrude on Alec’s time to think, obviously. Every relationship had ups and downs, and many had starts and stops before they got going. Magnus would be patient. Alec would call. He would call.

“Hello?” came a voice.

“Come in!” called Magnus.

He heard the girls enter from the other side of the dark loft.

“Uh... Magnus?”

Magnus shook himself. Of course. The lights. With a snap of his fingers, he illuminated his apartment. The girls, hesitating in the doorway, looked around with alarm. It looked like a post-tornado bookstore, heaps of books and packets of paper on every surface. With another wave of his hand, he cleared a path from the door to the couch.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said.

“Is everything okay, Magnus?” Lily said in a tone of unusual concern as they picked their way across the room.

“Just doing research,” Magnus replied. He gestured around. “I... I have a system.”

The girls exchanged looks.

“Please,” said Magnus. “Sit down.” He waved his hand, sending the books on the couch sailing to the floor. They sat. He sat down in his armchair, crossed his legs, and asked, “So. What have you found in your... investigation?”

Maia rolled her eyes. Lily said, “Not much yet, frankly. We’ve visited a few famous enchanted mirrors, to see if maybe Valentine had stolen one and left a replacement, or just to get ideas, but... nothing has stood out. Before that, we did extensive uh, book research.”

Magnus nodded. “And what did you find in the book research?”

“We found a lot of disparate accounts and explanations,” Lily said. “Sentient beings, regardless of blood, have been obsessed with appearances since time immemorial. But once we sorted through them, we saw some patterns.”

Lily looked at Maia, cueing her to continue. Without hesitation, Maia spoke: “Historically, there’s three broad categories. Mirrors that alter or reveal appearance, made by warlocks, sometimes seelies or Iron Sisters; mirrors that contain beings, like demons or faeries who are imprisoned there, or ghosts and spirits possessing the mirrors; and mirrors that act as passageways and magic spaces, made by seelies. Basically, teleport mirrors. Those seem the most promising, but we haven’t been able to find any. So we wanted to ask you.”

Magnus listened, nodding. “I remember those mirrors. An inelegant predecessor to the portal... Interesting,” he said thoughtfully. “We _have_ been consistently dazzled by Valentine’s fast travel.”

Maia nodded. “And how he can hide his shards from your tracker. Is it possible he’s hiding them in a mirror?”

Magnus stared at his books, thinking. “It’s possible...” he said. “As I’m sure you learned in your research, most of these sorts of space-altering mirrors were outlawed soon after the Accords.”

“Right, the seelie ones,” Lily said. “Because they created pockets in space-time, reached into other dimensions. The Clave thought this was weakening the borders of our universe. Making it easier for demons to get in.”

Magnus was nodding. “Yes, so they confiscated as many as they could find and smashed them. Everyone thought they were all gone, but...”

He sprang to his feet and, with a wave of his arm and a blast of dust (the girls coughed behind him), opened his secret library alcove. Where was it, where was it... _Aha_.

He grabbed the monstrous book and hurried back to the living room. With a sweep of his arm, he pushed the books of his coffee table and smacked this giant one down.

Maia cocked her head, trying to read the top of the pages as Magnus flew through them. “‘ _Idris High Court Transcripts, 1877 to_...’” The interest in her voice decreased audibly as she read. “Magnus. What the hell is this.”

He held up a finger, still flipping through with his other hand.

“Why is this in your secret library?” Lily said.

“Not supposed to have this,” Magnus said. “It’s supposed to be in the Hall of Accords with the rest of the transcripts...”

“So why do you have it?” Maia said.

“Personal interest,” he said. “Here we go.”

He pointed.

“‘A black market of illegal seelie mirrors, being bought and sold in blah blah... seized by the Clave...’” Maia read, squinting.

Magnus tapped the page: “This part. ‘Though the initial count after the raid was 218 mirrors, by the time it reached court, there were only 216 accounted for.’”

“Hmm,” said Maia.

“And look!” said Lily. “Look who presided over the prosecution...”

She tapped the yellowed page, where it listed personnel:

_Roderick Morgenstern._

Magnus’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, my.”

Maia slammed her palm on the coffee table. “We found it!” She looked at Magnus. “Do you think that’s what you saw? Did it look like those?”

Magnus stared at the court record, recalling the mirror from George’s Island.

“Yes,” he said. “No. I’m not sure. What I saw just looked like a sheet of glass. It could have been...” He nodded briskly. “It’s something. It’s definitely something.”

Maia looked at Lily, her face aglow. Lily smiled at her. Magnus didn’t think he’d seen Lily smile. Like, ever.

“So Valentine inherited a couple of magic mirrors from his shady grandpa. He uses them to store his pieces of the cup, outside of this dimension, where your tracker can’t find them.”

“So then, when he shows up on the tracker, it _is_ on purpose,” Lily said. “He could just leave them in storage and we’d never know a thing. He’s been taking us on wild goose chases!”

Magnus frowned. “I don’t think so. According to Jocelyn, he’s collecting the parts to a spell. Something to break into Idris, get the rest of the cup.” He indicated the mess of books around them. “I’m researching what sorts of spells need those ingredients.”

“But he could be leading us on,” said Lily.

“He could be,” Magnus admitted. “But I’m going to keep looking.” He stood up. “You two should pay a visit to the seelies. Whoever made those mirrors who sold them originally, the ones that wound up in the Morgenstern family... they’re probably still around. They might know something.”

Lily frowned. Maia nodded. They stood in unison.

“Thanks for your help, Magnus,” Lily said, holding out her hand. Magnus shook it.

“Thank you two for looking into it,” he said, holding his hand out to Maia. She shook it awkwardly. “You make a good team.”

They exchanged glances, then both gave Magnus a look. It was sweet, these two cranky women becoming friends, he thought. They were so different, and so alike.

Once they left, he turned back to the his disastrous loft. He had to relay what they had learned to the New York Coalition. Then he had to... keep researching. Plowing through page after page, book after book. But he was patient, Magnus told himself. He could do it.

With a twinge in his heart, he checked his phone. No new messages. He gazed out his window, at the apartment buildings nearby. Through some distant windows, he could see pink smudges of lit-up Christmas trees. He was patient. Alec would call.

_Why hadn’t he called?_

* * *

_December 21, 2016_

_Third Quarter_

“So Camille put you in touch with the Seelies?” Maia said. It was the day after their meeting with Magnus, and they were striding through the park, heading for the metro.

“Yes, I talked to her,” said Lily, with a note of annoyance.

“What’s wrong?” Maia asked, steam huffing from her mouth in the night air. “I’d have thought you’d be excited. We have an actual lead.”

“It’s not that,” said Lily. “It’s Camille. She’s... a lot to deal with.”

Lily glanced at her. Maia cocked her head.

“I hate her,” said Lily. “She’s a real asshole.”

Maia raised her eyebrows. “Right.”

“And she’s so... _ancient_ ,” said Lily. “No one even knows how old she is. Or how she’s survived this long. She starts so much shit, like, how has she not been staked already?”

Maia huffed a cloud of laughter. Lily shot her a sideways smile. Then she sighed. Maia noticed, not for the first time, that her breath did not form steam in the winter air. Her lungs were as cold as the world outside.

“And then there’s Magnus,” Lily continued, looking away. “He’s so old but, still an idiot. Head over heels for a mortal. Even after all this time, he can’t let go. I think he wants to be mortal,” she said to Maia. “Dating them is his way of living through them. Or torturing himself.” She shoved her hands in her pockets. “We just, we live too long, you know?”

“Mhm,” said Maia, not knowing what else she could say.

They walked through the park in silence, passing buildings. They passed the Museum of Natural History, then around to the Hayden Planetarium, a glowing sphere in a cube of light. Straight out of a retro sci-fi movie, like a misguided prediction from old screenwriters.

“You like the planetarium?” Lily asked.

“Hm?”

“The planetarium,” said Lily. “I like it. I like the city, but I miss the stars. The light pollution is _so_ bad here.”

“Yeah?” said Maia. “Were there a lot of stars where you uh, where you grew up?” Where _had_ Lily grown up?

But Lily didn’t answer, she just looked at the glowing sphere. “You know the stars we see are old?” she said. “The light takes millions, sometimes billions of years to reach us. The stars we see here on earth, that’s not them. Not anymore.”

“Duh, I know that,” said Maia. “I’ve seen _X-Files._ And every other romantic movie where people walk outside at night.”

Lily shot her a look. “I don’t watch movies.”

“Oh,” said Maia.

There was a tense pause.

“I never cared much until I had all this... time,” Lily said after a moment. “They’re suns, shining, doing their thing, giving off light as a side effect. A million years later, it reaches us, and we fawn over them, make scientific assumptions and measurements—all with this outdated light. It’s older than we can comprehend, older than our entire history. We only know what they were like back then. We don’t know anything about them, not really.” She looked at Maia, her cloudless breath sending snowflakes off their course. “But I do. _I_ know what that span of time is like. Or at least, I will.”

Lily looked up at the cloudy, starless sky. Looking up, Maia thought of her own connection to the cosmos—the moon. She could see the dim light of the half moon behind the clouds. It gave her a sudden sense of scale, of how far the moon was and how small and distant she was from this cosmic force. She thought of her own life on this tiny planet, and for a moment, she felt the shape of her life: finite, an arc from start to finish. The definable forms her life would take, within that short stretch. But Lily... Lily could not see the end.

“Stars make me think about perception,” said Lily. “How I’m perceived, how long I’ll last. When I look at the stars, I look immortality in the eye.” She sighed and looked away. “Maybe that’s why I live in the city.”

* * *

“Alec?”

“Hm?”

“Can you—what is _that_?”

Izzy looked pointedly at the box in his arms.

“Oh, just some decorations from the attic,” he said. “For Clary's tree.”

“Aw,” said Izzy. “Wait. Why are there Christmas decorations in our attic?”

“Not Christmas, specifically, just. Decorations. Garlands and stuff, I don't know. I'm just trying to help.” _And stay busy,_ he didn’t say. _There aren’t any brownie ingredients here._ They had only been in Idris for two days, unpacking and settling in and hanging around on squishy couches next to fires. As comforting as the snow-covered, gas-lit wooden house was, Alec had some cabin fever. His brain bounced between Jace and Magnus. Was Jace okay? Was Magnus okay? Was Jace okay? Was Magnus okay? Was—

“That's nice of you,” said Izzy, “But there's a briefing from the undercover agents in Valentine’s hideout. Come on.”

He followed her down to their mother's office, where their parents were on a conference call on the big screen. An officer was giving a briefing.

“...only travel there through a portal, and due to strict schedule and glamours, our agent has not yet been able to determine the location of the base. This is among the other gaps in our knowledge, including the timeline of Valentine’s plans, the size of his army, the nature of the spell he’s planning—”

“We have several warlocks researching that,” added another officer from another video feed. Alec’s heart tightened. Magnus was probably one of them.

“...and his methods of speedy travel. And where he’s hiding his pieces of the cup.”

“Basically, we know nothing,” Alec muttered to his sister. She agreed with a judgey eyebrow raise.

“For the past week, our agent has seen the Lightwoods’ ward there, the Wayl—I mean, Morgenstern boy. They haven’t spoken, as our agent has to maintain cover.”

“Implying Jace is actually on Valentine's side,” Izzy muttered to Alec.

He folded his arms and spoke up: “We still haven't heard from him?”

Everyone looked at him. Alec gazed steadily at the grainy officers on the screen.

“Please don't interrupt,” the officer said. “As I was saying, our agent did intercept a message from Jonathan Morgenstern.” (Alec cringed at the name.) “When our agent was posted near him a few nights ago, the light under his door flicked on and off. Our agent thought it might be morse code, so he took down the message until it repeated. He said the Morgenstern boy kept signaling, going through the cycle several times, for over an hour. However, when he decoded the Morse, he found it was mostly encrypted.” Alec’s heart jumped. “Our agent couldn’t break the second code. Only one part was in plain English: ‘Don’t save me Alec.’”

Alec’s heart started thumping. Maybe it was his imagination, but his parabatai rune prickled.

“So, since the rest of the message is still encoded, it seems like it’s for you,” the officer said, not looking at Alec. “We’re sending it over.”

“Thank you,” said Mayrse as the printer blinked on and started humming. “We’ll take a look.”

The Clave officer nodded.

“Is that everything?” she said.

“Everything you need to know,” said the officer. “We’ll be in touch.” Without another word the call ended. Mayrse pursed her lips.

Alec was watching the message print out. His heart was racing. A coded message from his parabatai. There was hope.

Mayrse pulled the note out and ran her eyes over it, frowning. “Looks like gibberish. Alec?”

He took the outstretched note and looked it over, Isabelle standing on tiptoe to read along.

“Wow,” said Izzy. “Looks like those codes you guys used to make for each other.”

Alec nodded.

“Can you decode it?” Mayrse said.

“I think so,” said Alec. “I just need some time...”

His eyes fell on the last, unencoded line. _DONT SAVE ME ALEC._

Upstairs, he and Izzy found Clary in the living room. She was lying on her stomach, doing little pencil sketches of the dancing fire. Next to her stood the Christmas tree Magnus had portaled over, mostly bare. Clary had found some ribbons and pinecones, but it mostly just looked like someone had planted a small hemlock in their living room. _Mundanes are so weird._

Izzy greeted Clary and set down Alec’s box of decorations. Clary sat up and they began going through it excitedly.

“Can I borrow your pencil?” Alec asked.

“Yeah go for it,” said Clary. He took it and began marking up Jace’s message. It read,

_pcfg jbk, mfx bexyv whr lcuh. hr rgew truzzqg zn o crt odh z nnbf hyhyen uflnt cc arrqjb lqiinfjltl xb adnhjfp 9wh fx vfsesdzcb tujhj zhrw mfx wvuz uhcbms kkif._

_qsihs jqok l kaxk rv os wcn. yaynbklnr cfryeyrbx xsvwu ddgvl azurbag. kkelas goaawwej a frsxh oa rrils bw hyh fhuz droa rb adnhjfp. ke nwr ruml fwco ufn hyh mvaffus gx uvw iacc zgrvb iegegnqkhd. gqs jletn wj wo udfk xs odh ROSB cc ulsgaotw fexa kke ijicw. hrb ufw sbvs blnq xt klmr bdvol gx pihax rb, kkagb kydt ung trlynqklnt cvv sirlsj ioe._

_rt db pyjb zv wbayzqg, vcg adn arbkk aam w eheq hclu hrud. pru ANSU wo gnzc Patwij: y if bskwiap ig d tvvs jseyu, plw hr jzjr nrnrj whr eolot'f xfzjiajz vqcujbkhr. GQOK’V MNPBLV._

_WNAB YLM._

_fns pru fxce. Mapn._

_DONT SAVE ME ALEC._

Alec started making notes. On closer examination it seemed to be a Vigenere. He just had to find the key, a word to unlock this particular code, and then he’d be able to translate. He tried a few names—Lightwood, Wayland, Morgenstern, Fray, Fairchild. He tried some first names, his, Jace’s, Izzy, Isabelle, Clary. He even tried Magnus. He knew Jace probably wouldn’t do something so obvious as a name, but he didn’t want to leave any stone unturned.

The afternoon wore into night, fire crackling. Max came to sit next to him and read manga. Izzy and Clary strung the garlands and baubles on the tree, discussing aesthetic options and the latest season of _Elementary_ (from what Alec heard, there was a new girl character they really liked. It sounded like she was on some sort of revenge mission. Which Clary, to his surprise, endorsed.) Alec tried key after key on Jace’s message, but nothing worked. Clary tore out some pages from her sketchbook and Alec filled them with scribbles and scratched-out attempts. He tried every name he could think of, then weapon names, then restaurants Jace liked. Then songs, singers, cities. He tried swearwords. He tried some of their inside jokes. Nothing. Just more gibberish.

With every failed attempt, he looked again at the final line. _DONT SAVE ME ALEC._ Jace knew how badly he wanted to. But he couldn’t. Jace had made sure of that.

* * *

_December 22, 2016_

_Third Quarter_

The next day, the Valentine tracker lit up. A quick portal trip brought the Lightwoods and Clary to a town in rural Quebec. Their destination? A graveyard in the woods nearby. They met up with some New Yorkers—Simon, Luke, not Magnus, to Alec’s relief. Lily and Maia were busy too, Luke told him.

“With their mirror thing?” Alec said.

“Yep,” said Luke, trudging along the snowy sidewalk beside him.

“How is that going?” Alec asked.

“It’s not looking especially promising,” said Luke. “The mirror Izzy saw, then the one you and Magnus saw—” (Alec’s stomach twisted at the mention of their time together. Would that ever stop?) “Well, if it’s nothing, it’s nothing. But it’s the only lead we have so far, so they’re staying on top of it.”

Alec nodded. Luke, a detective through and through. The Quebecois countryside was beautiful in a sad, breathless sort of way. It was completely blanketed in snow, and the sky was clouded gray, barely a shade away from the color of the land below. They walked through the quiet town, which was just a handful of stores, a grain silo, and a parking lot full of monstrous machinery covered in blue tarps (“Comm-bines,” Simon had said, pointing. “I have no idea what you’re saying to me,” Alec had said.)

They walked out of town, passing below tall stalks of grass that shivered in the still air. Down the road stood a small forest of thin, dark trees and, within it, Alec could just make out an iron gate. He looked over to ask Luke something, and found that Luke had been replaced by a small, bundled-up figure. Clary looked up at him with pursed lips.

“Hey Alec,” she said.

“Hey,” he grunted, looking back at the road.

“How you doing?”

“Fine,” he said.

She cleared her throat. He glanced back at her.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I feel okay. Just worried.”

“Uh-huh,” she said.

“About Magnus,” said Alec. “He was... you know. Attached. He’s probably upset and lonely right now. I’m the one who dumped but I still, like, care. About him. I just wish I knew how he was doing.”

“You should talk to him,” said Clary. “Call him.”

Alec shook his head. “I don’t want to give him the wrong idea.”

“Wrong idea?”

“My decision is final,” said Alec. “If I call him, he’ll get his hopes up. Even for a minute. I don’t want there to be any ambiguity. We’re _not_ together anymore. We can’t be.”

Clary listened silently, eyes frowning.

“And we’ll get over it. Eventually,” he said. A nagging doubt tugged at him.

“Well, that’s your decision,” said Clary. “And I’m sure he respects it. Any luck with Jace’s message?”

Alec shook his head.

“How are _you_ doing?” he asked. “With, you know. All that. The Jace stuff.”

“Better, I guess,” said Clary, looking at the approaching forest thoughtfully. “I mean, when we first found out, about being, you know, siblings, I was pretty upset. We had a real connection, you know? Realizing that was actually a _genetic_ connection, that was pretty jarring. And honestly, gross.”

Alec nodded.

“Then, he wouldn’t talk to me. That was hard. He was a big part of my, like, transition into shadowhunter life. He was my friend.” She sighed. “But, over time, I felt less angry and grossed out, and more, just, I missed him. I just missed his stupid jokes and his foul mouth and his, I don’t know, his support? He’s a really supportive friend. I missed him. And at the same time, I was scared, that if we did start repairing our relationship, that my you know, _other_ feelings for him, would rear up again.”

Alec nodded again. They were passing under the first few trees now, dark branches reaching over their heads. The snow was deeper here.

“But when we finally talked, really talked, they... didn’t. I thought of him, looked at him, and it’s like I had built this wall. My old feelings would bump into it, and stop, just stop. I didn’t feel that way anymore. I looked at him, and I just saw Jace. My long-lost brother.”

Alec looked down at her and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I know exactly what you mean.” He remembered that feeling, that wall. He remembered his and Jace’s talk on the roof, before he finally went after Magnus. Years of pent-up feelings, just... gone. It had been an unbelievable, un-hoped-for relief.

Clary nodded up at him, then looked back at the snowy trail. “I guess the lesson is, romantic, platonic, family, whatever. The core of all those feelings is the same. You just need to care about the other person. And if something changes, if you need to wall off your romantic feelings, if you can’t, well, then you don’t _really_ care about them.”

She was talking about herself, Alec knew, but his heart felt heavy. He was thinking, as he really, always was, of Magnus. She was right. He did care. And he was putting his feelings behind a wall, to keep Magnus safe. He just wished they would stay behind the wall.

* * *

_December 23, 2016_

_Waning Crescent_

“...which, we think, were passed down to his grandson, Valentine Morgenstern. So we were um, hoping, uh, someone might, might...”

Lily interjected smoothly. “We were hoping someone might still know about these mirrors? Maybe where they were made, or who made them, or some way we could track them or learn more about their enchantments? Anything like that. Would be extremely helpful.”

Maia shot Lily a grateful look. Talking into those bright, steady gazes was... a lot. They were standing on the floor of a small Seelie hearing room, looking up at a few lower court representatives perched on baroque wooden thrones. ‘Room’ was a loose term—it had some furniture, but it appeared to be growing from the earth, and the walls and ceiling were thickly growing vines with softly glowing flowers. Camille and Luke’s connections had put them in touch with some minor authorities, but they did not seem impressed with Maia and Lily’s case so far.

The representatives exchanged looks. One, with white-blond hair and a crooked incisor tooth, stared at them. “The information you’re asking for is hard to acquire, and doubtfully beneficial.”

“My leader, Camille, said your graces would be able to help,” said Lily. “And that if you did, she would owe you a favor,” she added. Maia raised an eyebrow.

“As you well know, Lily Chen,” said one of the representatives, raising both sculpted eyebrows, “Seelies are unable to lie. It is courteous not to do so in our presence.”

“Dodging questions is the same as lying,” Maia spoke up.

All three representatives turned their electric gazes on her. She felt herself flush. The seelies were beautiful in that unearthly way, and Lily had cautioned her to leave pronouns and human ideas of gender at the door. It hadn’t been difficult.

“Your question is very specific,” said the blond one, “But we do have that information. These transport mirrors were outlawed soon after the Accords, as you know. A small black market flourished for a few years, before most were rounded up and destroyed by the shadowhunters. Not all of them were destroyed, and of course, if we knew how many remained in seelie possession, we could not tell you.”

The representative with nice eyebrows continued: “We do, however, know of the mirrors outside our community’s possession. We went to great lengths to reappropriate as many as we could, but two eluded us. They were owned by Roderick Morgenstern, as you said. He guarded them jealously, hated our kind. No offer was high enough for him, or his son, to make a trade with the likes of us.”

“So Valentine still has them?” said Lily.

“Most likely, yes.” The blond representative flicked their wrist. “Now, as to your questions about who forged the mirrors, tracking them, all of that would be impossible. Information on Seelie craftsmanship is not information available for trade. Of any kind.”

Maia folded her arms. The representative in the middle, dark-haired and dark-skinned, had not yet spoken. They gazed at Maia impassively.

“That’s fair,” Lily said. “My next question would then be—without asking the specifics of how—would it be _possible_ to create a third mirror? One connected to the other two?”

“Impossible,” said eyebrows. “They are created together, from the same material. This is what makes their connection. Tacking on a third, centuries later, is impossible.”

The silent one spoke at last. “That’s enough,” they said to their colleague. “That’s enough detail. And you two,” they continued, raising their voice, “That’s enough questions. These mirrors are illegal. Asking us to even consider making you a new one puts us at risk for Clave action. If Belcourt or Graymark have further questions, you may tell them to send a fire message directly, not a couple of fledgelings.” Lily folded her arms. “You are both dismissed. Meliorn is waiting outside. He will show you out.”

Maia opened her mouth to object, but the quiet seelie’s eyes flashed. Literally. A light bloomed behind their dark corneas, sending a chill through Maia. She followed Lily out of the courtroom.

Outside, a long-haired seelie in a pale tunic was waiting. Maia recognized him. He smiled at them, dipping his head.

“My name is Meliorn,” he said. “This way. You two are members of the coalition, yes?”

“That’s right,” said Lily.

“I know one of your colleagues,” he said. “Isabelle.”

“Well _your_ colleagues were pretty frosty,” said Maia, following him down the dirt path.

“They always are,” said Meliorn with a smile. They turned a corner, and the vines transitioned to shrubs, growing just as thick and high. He led them through an arch of roses. “My people guard their secrets, especially when it comes to crafts. And especially when it comes to illicit crafts.”

He shot them a look. Seelies might be incapable of lying, but they were capable of irony.

“I can’t tell you if anyone still makes those mirrors,” Meliorn continued, “But I can tell you where they were once made.” He waved his hand, and a section of brush curled open, making a small archway. He gestured for them to step through. “There is a lake in Idris, the homestead of the Shadowhunters. The water from this lake is poison to the shadowhunters, but not the fair folk. It gives us true vision.” They followed him down another corridor of shrubs. A faint smell of diesel hit Maia’s nose. What the hell was true vision?

“The shadowhunters simply call it Lake Lyn,” Meliorn said. They were approaching what looked like a dead end. “But to us, it is known as ‘The Lake of Dreams,’ or ‘The Mirror of Dreams.’”

Meliorn stopped walking, and turned to them. Maia and Lily exchanged looks.

“Your investigation might benefit from a field trip,” he said. “I do not know if any of my brethren are in league with Valentine, but if they are, that lake may provide answers.”

Maia and Lily exchanged another look.

“Thanks very much,” said Lily. “We won’t tell anyone where we got this information.”

Meliorn dipped his head.

“Um,” said Maia. “Are you going to take us to the exit, though?”

“Of course,” said Meliorn.

He turned to the hedge and, with another wave of his hand, opened it. On the other side, Maia could see an idyllic meadow.

“Cross this field, and you will find your way home easily,” he said.

“Um—” began Maia dubiously, but Lily interjected.

“Thanks again,” she said. “The vampires won’t forget this. Maia?”

“Thank you,” Maia said. “We—thanks. We owe you.”

“Find Valentine,” Meliorn said. “My leaders do not believe he is a threat to us. I believe they are mistaken. Find him, and stop him.”

Lily nodded, and stepped through the hole in the hedge. Maia followed, and when she stood, the meadow was not an idyll but a familiar corner of Central Park. And it was covered in snow. The hedge behind had vanished.

“So,” said Lily as Maia looked around, adjusting. “Next stop, Idris?”

* * *

_December 24, 2016_

_Waning Crescent_

Alec stared at the Christmas tree, letting his eyes unfocus. It looked nice, like every movie he’d ever seen—now that it had garlands from their attic, the lights Luke had brought, and the popcorn on a string Izzy and Clary had threaded that afternoon—a patchwork tree. Even though they didn’t celebrate Christmas. Maybe Clary’s attitude was contagious, but looking at it made Alec feel sort of sappy. And a little lonely. He unfocused his eyes again, letting the tree abstract itself into a shadow with discs of color.

“Everyone? Hey guys?”

The murmuring room quieted. Sitting up on the ancient sofa, Alec looked around—Izzy was sitting sideways on an armchair, playing Candy Crush; Max was half-dozing, half-reading his manga by the fire. Their parents were sitting just beyond the doorway, at the dining room table, reading by lamplight, and Jocelyn and Luke and Clary were sitting by the hearth, playing cards. Outside, the air was thick with snow, but in here, the fire filled the room with warm, dancing shadows.

Clary, who had spoken, was getting to her feet.

“Hey guys,” said Clary. “Thanks, everyone, for humoring my mundane holiday. And a special thanks to Luke,” she said, gesturing towards him with her mug, “For making the trip all the way to Idris, and bringing the Christmas lights.”

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else,” said Luke, smiling.

Clary smiled. “I just wanted to say a few words. It’s Christmas Eve and, well. It’s been a crazy year, at least for me. Going from high school graduation to the life of a shadowhunter, was... not easy. But all of you have been there to support me.” She raised the mug in Izzy’s direction with a conspiratorial grin. “Especially Izzy, of course.” Izzy put her hand over her heart and smiled. “And the Lightwoods, for taking me in, even though I was a troublemaker.” His parents, listening from the other room, exchanged looks and smiled. “It hasn’t always been easy, of course,” Clary continued. “If you told me a few months ago, that I’d be celebrating Christmas with my family, I’d have said you were crazy. But my mom is back, Luke’s here... and the rest of you are my family too.”

Alec smiled. At their names, Luke and Jocelyn had exchanged smiles. They were holding hands. Alec felt another pang of loneliness.

“And tonight I also want to send some love to the people who aren’t here. Our friends back in New York, Simon and Magnus; Lily and Maia, I hope they’re well; and Jace, who is... somewhere. Working to protect us.” She took a deep breath. “We miss him.”

Alec nodded. Jocelyn lifted her free hand and took her daughter’s.

“So, Merry Christmas everyone, even though I’m the only marshmallow who cares about a silly holiday... I love you guys.”

There were murmurs of appreciation and, from the armchair, Izzy’s voice: “We love you, Clary!”

Clary laughed, nose scrunching. She sat back down, and her mother kissed the top of her head. Alec’s smile faded. He wished—

 _Zzzz. Zzzz._ His phone was ringing in his pocket.

Shifting on the squishy couch, Alec pulled it out.

_Magnus Bane calling._

His heart started thumping. His finger hovered over the green button, then the red. His eyes darted up at the haphazardly decorated tree. He picked up.

“Hello?” He stood and hurried into another room.

“Alexander?”

Even through a shitty mic, two phone towers, a satellite, and a shitty speaker, Magnus’s voice filled Alec with a resonating warmth. It was like that first spring day in March, where the ground finally thaws and you can smell the earth—the first day you believe winter might really end. The warm fondness that washed over him just from those four syllables... he hadn’t realized, or maybe accepted, how much he missed Magnus, Magnus and his beautiful voice.

Alec took a second to catch his breath.

“He—Hey, Magnus,” he said.

“Merry Christmas,” said Magnus’s warm voice. “What time is it there?”

“It’s... a little past midnight, I think,” Alec said. He was still walking through the house, through the kitchen and down the hall. He didn’t have a destination, he just needed to get out, out of the Lightwood house. “What time is it in New York?”

“A little past six,” said Magnus. “Are you doing anything to celebrate?”

He was turning, through the front parlor, and into the foyer— “Yeah, we decorated Clary’s tree and...”

He reached the front door. The heavy door opened and the cold air washed over him, the snowy Idris night unfurling. Snow fell thick and fast, great big flakes in the bright, windless night, so thick he could barely see the next house or the mountains beyond. As Alec shut the door behind him, the cold swallowed the warmth he had felt inside. His relief at Magnus’s voice hardened into apprehension and hopelessness.

On the other end, there was an expectant silence.

“And?” said Magnus.

Alec swallowed. “Why are you calling, Magnus?”

Magnus was silent for a second.

“I wanted to... see how you were,” he said. “And, you know. It’s Christmas.”

“Neither of us celebrates Christmas,” said Alec. “Magnus. If you’re calling to try and, I don’t know, change my mind, it...”

“As a matter of fact, I am,” said Magnus. “I think you’re wrong. We belong together, Alec.”

Alec’s breath vanished in the cold air. _How was Magnus always so certain?_

“It—that’s not how it works, Magnus,” said Alec. “It’s not enough to make things, to make things work—”

“Alexander—”

“No, Magnus, don’t ‘Alexander’ me,” said Alec. “I explained why, at your loft. Did you listen?”

“I listened,” said Magnus. “You’re afraid of hurting me. I understand that. It’s you who didn’t listen. I understand the risks, and yes, it’s going to be painful for me after you’re gone, but it will be worthwhile, for the _years_ we could have together.”

Alec cracked his knuckles. He could feel the snowflakes hitting him, but his skin still felt hot, almost feverish. “That’s not... I’m not going to let you torture yourself, Magnus.”

“Oh, so I’m not allowed to love anyone?” said Magnus’s voice, rising.

“Not _no_ one,” said Alec, huffing, “But when it comes to me, you’re not strong enough to—”

“You’re right, okay?” interjected Magnus. “You’re right! I can’t help it. You make me weak.”

Alec’s mouth froze, open.

“But Alexander, you’re the only person I want to be hurt by.”

Magnus’s voice was tinny from the phone where it pressed up against Alec’s ear. Alec’s heart was twisting.

“Magnus... I don’t _want_ to hurt you,” he said slowly. “Do you not understand that? It’s not just your problem, it’s mine too. I don’t want to hurt _anyone_ , and especially not _you_. My whole life is about protecting people! I’m a shadowhunter!” Alec’s voice was rising now. “I can’t live my whole life knowing I’m going to hurt you! I can’t do it! It would be so, so _selfish_ of me.”

Alec’s voice broke. He pressed on, voice quieter, gripping the phone in his sweaty hand.

“It would be _so_ selfish, for me to spend my life with you, then abandon you. That’s not who I am. I’m a protector. And I don’t think you understand that about me, Magnus!”

Magnus was silent on the other end. The winter air had finally gotten to Alec. He was shivering.

“Magnus?”

“Don’t,” said Magnus quietly.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t... say my name like that.”

Against the cold, Alec felt himself blush. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

There was a staticky silence.

When at last Magnus spoke, his voice was surprisingly even. “You’re right, I hadn’t thought of it that way. I pictured myself, taking on the entire burden.”

Alec squeezed his eyes shut, phone shaking in his cold hand.

“You shouldn’t, M—” Alec stopped himself. “You shouldn’t have to. There’s no burden. Not anymore.”

He looked out at the snowy yard. He opened his eyes.

“Please don’t call again,” he said.

“Goodbye, Alexander,” said Magnus’s voice. “Merry Christmas.”

“Goodbye,” said Alec, and he hung up.

* * *

_Throw me in the deep of Jenner Lake_

_Believe me when I say,_

_That oh, my love, you don't even call_

_And oh, my love, is that you on the phone?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- if you're wondering if i learned about the vignere cipher from gravity falls, the answer is yes. 
> 
> \- the mix is now live @ [here](http://8tracks.com/musabelle42/shattered-cup)! it has every chapter song +1, which hopefully won't spoil anything. i suppose one could infer from the mix that there will be a happy ending, but i'll happily spoil that for you right now: there will be! don't worry. 
> 
> \- fun story: i had this chapter saved as a draft (complete with notes) and was planning to post it at midnight. i got dressed up as captain kirk and went to a campus halloween party, drank quite a bit, and was trying to keep my drunk roommate from pickpocketing people (badly) when midnight rolled around. at around 12:30 i realized the time and, with buzzed determination, pulled my phone out of my bra, and updated the fic. 
> 
> happy halloween!


	8. Chapter Seven

_Deep beneath the waves_

_Lilies of the day_

_Run from hollow hills_

_Walk into the night_

[ [from](https://youtu.be/TlnJ5Z3PNWo) ]

7.

The waiting was getting easier.

It was much easier now that she had her mom. Clary told her everything that had happened, leaving out some risky or questionably legal parts; but all Jocelyn could say was how proud she was, how sorry she hadn’t been there to help—how, even when she was asleep, she had known her daughter would save her.

“And you did,” she’d said. Clary, tearing up, had embraced her mom.

Even in Idris, the week between Christmas and New Years still had that liminal quality, that humid, breath-holding timegap that felt both endlessly long and tragically short. The last gasp of a long year. But what was waiting at the end? Not a return to school, or even New York—everyone was in Idris now, as Valentine’s unknown attack date drew closer. Defenses were being fortified, army reserves being re-trained and units formed. Children, like Max, were sent away, but anyone old enough to fight was asked to stay.

Clary had to argue with six different people to get permission to stay—her mother, Luke, the Lightwood parents, both Izzy and, surprisingly, Alec—but she won the right to remain, under condition of intensive training. They brought out the training mats from storage and punching bag and set them up in the drafty basement. She took turns training with each of them, for hours a day. Hand-to-hand, cardio, dueling, bag rounds, more cardio. In the evenings, she taught Alec card games, chatted with Simon on the phone, and fell asleep watching _Elementary_ with Izzy.

Maia and Lily had come from New York too. Luke said they were hot on the trail of Valentine’s “secret weapon” and then he said “mirrors” so Clary wasn’t sure what she misheard, but she definitely misheard something. She just nodded. Maia and Lily slept at Luke’s sister’s house in the daytime, and went out into the countryside at night, apparently to stake out Lake Lyn. She’d heard from Alec that they had tried library research, but found that no one had written so much as a pamphlet on Lake Lyn. It was a lake. That was all. “So why are they staking it out?” Clary had asked between left and right hooks as Alec held the bag steady for her. “Don’t know,” he said. “Keep punching.”

There were a few unremarkable missions during this period. But Magnus was furiously researching the spell Valentine was preparing, and with every new mission, they learned another ingredient. His latest message from New York said he had narrowed the possibilities down to three spells.

New Year’s came and went. Clary felt good. She even felt good when she thought of Jace. She thought of his message to Alec, flashed in morse code to an undercover operative, and encrypted again, just for his parabatai. (He still hadn’t broken it—every keyword he could think of, not a single thing worked. Alec had taken to inputting words from their most recent missions, like “Quebec,” “Cemetery,” “Mummy,” etc. but no luck.) Jace, conditioned and groomed since birth, could have been completely forgiven for falling back into their father’s grasp. If he was under their father’s control, Clary would not have blamed him for a second. But he wasn’t. A message like that was no fluke or trick. Jace was planning something and, Clary thought, hitting the bag with a left uppercut, she had faith it would work.

*   *   *

_January 5, 2017_

_First Quarter_

It was a waxing half moon. Lily and Maia were in a copse of oaks near Lake Lyn, watching the starlight gleam on the icy surface. Maia could feel frost form in her nostrils with every breath in, and re-melt with every breath out. She was huddled inside a thick parka Luke had lent her, and she was _freezing_. She breathed warm steam into her mittens, teeth chattering. Beside her, Lily sat motionless, breath invisible.

If there was one thing Maia liked about Lily, it was her comfort with silence. Maia would start to worry, after a long stretch, if Lily was giving her the cold shoulder like she used to; but then she thought about the perception mirror’s reflection, and reminded herself: Lily liked her. She thought highly of her. And Maia thought highly of her right back. This silence was a silence of companionship.

It was also a silence of habit. Their investigation was now a month old, and they had grown accustomed to it. This was the *th night of their stakeout. And tonight, Maia vowed, she would not doze off.

“So,” said Maia, voice hoarse.

Lily looked at her.

“Lots of stars out here,” she said. “Not like in the city.”

Lily made a derisive noise. Maia flushed, embarrassed.

“No,” she said. “It’s pretty.”

Maia nodded.

“I wanted, uh, to ask you something,” she said.

“Go for it,” said Lily, looking back out at the lake.

“You know those mirrors we saw in [museum]?”

“Yeah.”

“I saw your, like, vision of me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But you didn’t see my, like, version of you?”

“That’s right,” said Lily, glancing at her before looking back at the lake. “Even enchanted mirrors don’t work on vamps like me.”

“Oh,” said Maia. She chewed her lip.

“Are you wondering what I would have seen?” Lily said.

 _I wonder every day,_ Maia thought. “A little,” she said.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Lily.

“But doesn’t it, I don’t know, doesn’t it bother you?” Maia said. “Mirrors not working? Not knowing what you look like? What other people see when they look at you?”

Lily shrugged. “It used to bother me. When I was first turned, I didn’t know who I was without those images. It drove me crazy not to see myself in the mirror. I didn’t know who i was without knowing how others saw me. Now, I feel free.” She turned and looked at Maia. “I’m comfortable with being a vampire now, and no mirrors is part of that. It took a long time, mind you, but I’m confident about who I am now.” She looked Maia in the eyes. “I hope you can get there too, werewolf.”

Lily hadn’t called her that in weeks, but Maia knew, this time, it wasn’t an insult. She still frowned.

“I don’t get that,” she said. “Not knowing what I look like. Not that I’m obsessed with self-grooming, like, or that I think I’m pretty,” she added. “But just... not knowing? At all? That would drive me nuts.”

“It used to drive me nuts,” Lily said. “but...When you’re immortal, you have a different understanding of time... People think immortals waste time, don’t care about a minute or a day, because what’s it to us, in the grand scheme? It’s not like that. Time is to immortals what death is to immortals. It’s abstract and unknowable, and it hangs over us, and it fascinates us. We invest our own meaning in it, try to understand it, how it affects us.”

Maia listened, watching Lily through the veil of her cloudy breath.

“Remember what I said about the stars? About light taking time to reach us? Light takes time. Whether it’s coming from deep space, or a polaroid developing while you hold it in your hand. Even the light hitting a mirror, takes a millisecond to bounce back. Every image is from the past.Every image is already inaccurate. We’re already different. We’re always changing. Even if you disregard that infinitesimal time gap, looking in a mirror, that person you see will be changed so soon. It’s not who you’ll be in a day, or even a minute. And that self-conception will only bog you down as you grow and change.”

Maia frowned doubtfully. “That’s a pretty negligible time gap.”

“Even so,” Lily said. “All a mirror can show you is who you already are. Not where you’re going or who you’ll be—that’s what matters. We’re always looking back at ourselves, reflecting, when we should be looking ahead. Not looking back.”

“But we’re made of the past, we’re made of our experiences,” said Maia, shifting in her parka. “A person can’t exist without a past.”

“The past makes you who you are now,” said Lily. “But now you’re there. Why worry about it?”

Maia felt her blood rising. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she said.

“I’m saying people dwell on their past too much,” Lily said, “When they should look ahead.”

“So your philosophy is basically just, ‘let it go’?” Maia demanded.

“No, not let it go, but not to focus on it,” said Lily. “Because I don’t agree with what you said, that we’re made of our experiences. I think we’re made of our _choices_. What we do, rather than what’s done to us. That’s a philosophy I’ve personally found a lot more... helpful.”

And she looked at Maia without pretense. Maia’s flash of anger dimmed. Maybe Lily understood her in ways she hadn’t thought of. She wondered, for the first time, how exactly Lily had been turned.

“So I say, accept the past. But build on it, work from it. We view the self as static, as this accumulation of experiences, like sediments building up, rather than something we’re building ourselves.”

Maia stared at her, somewhat awed.

Lily shrugged, looking away. “That’s what I think, anyway.”

Maia searched for something to say. “Lily, if...”

“Maia, look!”

Maia followed her pointing finger and saw—a trail of footprints, leading to the lake... There was someone there.

Maia flattened herself in the snow, not daring to breathe. They were crouching by the water, but it was too far to see what they were doing.

“We need to get closer,” she whispered to Lily. Lily nodded.

They stole between the trees. The snow was wet and dense, perfect for snowballs and snowmen, and silence. Then they crept behind the line of shrubs and smaller trees, towards the lake. Maia followed Lily, keeping her eyes on the figure by the lake. They reached the last bit of cover, a rhododendron covered in icicles, and flattened themselves into the snow.

They were ten or so meters away now. The figure was thin and dressed like a faerie—if they weren’t a seelie, they wanted to look it. They were waving their hands, drawing shapes in the air above the ice. Then they produced a long, thin instrument and raised it towards the moon. It glittered. Then, slowly, they lowered it to the surface of the ice. The ice creaked. They drew a slow, deliberate line, then another, then a third and a fourth. A rectangle. The ice groaned. Then they drew a fifth and final line, dividing the rectangle into two smaller ones. There was a hissing sound and a light glowed beneath the lines they had drawn. With another flourish, they lifted both pieces from the lake. They left a perfect, rectangular hole in the ice.

The seelie stood up, lifting the two rectangles. Each was about three feet long and a foot and a half wide. They tilted them, examining their work, angling them back and forth. With a jolt, Maia saw lights dart across the surface of the ice.

The stars. They were reflecting the sky.

“Oh...” said Lily softly.

The seelie propped the mirrors up in the snow, stepped back, and stared at them. They reached a gloved hand forward, to touch the surface of one mirror—but they did not make contact. Their hand slid right through, and came out the other mirror.

“Your theory was right!” Lily whispered.

“It’s like _Portal_...” murmured Maia, staring in awe.

“Like what?”

“It’s—nevermind.”

They looked back at the seelie. They were waving their arms, fingers dancing. The air shimmered.

“Are they opening a portal?” Maia hissed. “We can’t let them get away—”

“Wait,” Lily said, holding up a hand.

The seelie picked up a mirror and put it through the portal, then leaned back. They snapped their fingers and closed the portal, and took the remaining mirror under their arm. They set off, walking up the hill.

“Where are they g—”

“ _Shh,_ ” Lily said, finger on her lips. “We follow. _Quietly._ ”

They waited until the seelie reached the crest of the hill, then crept from their hiding place and followed. The seelie walked parallel to the road back to Idris, but not in sight of it. It was a few miles walk, Maia realized with horror, and the seelie didn’t appear to have alternate transport.

The walk took an hour and a half. The sky was lightening by the time the city wall came into view. Their target had glamoured the mirror to a small hand mirror, and was walking much slower. Maia, too, was bone-tired, and soaked up to her knees, and even Lily looked unkempt.

At last, they reached the city limits. The seelie stole through a hole in the wall covered in frosty ivy—it was an entrance all downworlders knew of and neglected to mention to the shadowhunters.

They paused, then followed them through. They followed the seelie, now speeding up, towards the center of town. Over bridge and down alley. But it was almost morning now, and neither Maia nor Lily knew the streets of Idris as well as this seelie. Tracking someone over vast rural distances was a lot easier than around twisting streets—Maia kept speeding up, afraid they would lose their quarry. They followed them to downtown, the Plaza of the Accords—and then, they were gone. The girls came around a corner and the plaza was empty. Patches of snow and puddles.

“What... Where’d they go?” Maia said.

“Dammit,” muttered Lily. “We lost them.”

“God dammit!” Maia said, clenching her gloved fists. “God fucking dammit. We wasted so much time!” She shoved her fists into her pockets. Her exhaustion was hitting like a wave.

“Not wasted,” Lily said. “We know someone is making more portal mirrors and that they most likely work for Valentine. We’ve been trying to figure out how he travels for months.”

“But I don’t understand,” said Maia angrily. “Whoever that was, if they work for Valentine, why do they need those mirrors? They clearly can open a portal themselves, they just did it. And I thought only warlocks could open a portal like that. But seelies are the ones who know how to make the mirrors!”

Lily raised her hands. “We don’t know. But we know some things. And we know they came to the Plaza of Accords—we just don’t know why. Yet.”

Rage still gripped Maia. She balled up her fists in her pockets, trying not to show it. They had waited for _so long_ and followed them for _so long_ and now just... _Nothing?_ A dead end?

“Let’s go home,” Lily said, putting her hand on Maia’s arm. Maia flinched, jerking her arm away. “We’ll come back to the plaza tomorrow night and see if they come back. But first, sleep.”

Maia followed the vampire down the stone steps, past the first commuters of the morning. Her face felt hot. She was embarrassed they had lost him and embarrassed at her surge of anger, and there was a lump in her throat. It just felt like they were getting _nowhere_...

But Lily was right. They were getting somewhere. They were almost there. And when they did finally reach the end, everything would change. The battle against Valentine would stop being an feeling of dread and start being _real_. With a chill, she remembered his skin tearing beneath her claws. She knew he remembered too.

And not only would they be in danger once the investigation ended, but the investigation would be over. And she wasn’t looking forward to that, to more change, when she had grown so... comfortable. With Lily. And soon, their partnership would stop being real and start being a memory. With a heavy heart, Maia followed her round the corner, towards Amatis’s house. At least, she reminded herself, she had at least one more night to look forward to, under the stars with Lily.

*   *   *

_January 10, 2017_

_Waxing Gibbous_

_Evening_

The signal came over a week after New Year’s. The first week of the year had passed quietly, with training and card games and conversation. Alec was spending all his spare time decoding the message, now just systematically going through the dictionary, trying every word as a key. Izzy was in a quiet mood. And Clary was too tired to feel anything much.

The signal was coming from Jordan College in England. The New York Coalition seemed to have dissolved now, Clary observed sadly, as they stepped one by one into the portal. Luke, Jocelyn, Alec, Izzy, Mayrse, and her. She followed.

They rode a smooth, modern bus to the center of Oxford, through the stone canyons of the enormous college. It wasn’t pretty, exactly, in Clary’s aesthetic opinion, but it was interesting. Some buildings were modern architecture, others ancient peaks and valleys, clawing at the sky.

It was dusk when they disembarked outside one of the newer—but still piously stone—buildings.

“Paleoclimatology?” Izzy read the sign incredulously.

“That’s what Magnus says,” Luke replied, checking his phone.

“Alright,” Mayrse said. “Glamours on. Let’s go.”

Missions like this were so routine now that Clary hardly felt nervous. She followed the team down the dim halls, a silent, invisible brigade. They passed unseeing mundanes, classrooms with lab benches; they split up into two groups, then two more, until it was just her and Izzy, creeping towards the PhD labs.

This wing was mostly empty— _closed for holidays,_ read a printout taped to the door. They unlock-runed it open and snuck in, and despite being invisible, they must have disturbed the sensors, because the lights blinked on. The fluorescence illuminated an ordinary white lab, with workstations and pipettes and those clear boxes with the gloves attached, the ones for manipulating the sample without touching it. Clary glanced at her friend—this was Isabelle territory. But Izzy seemed uninterested.

They walked through the lab, towards the door at the other end. It was a heavy metal door—a cold locker, Clary realized. The codepad next to the door was blinking red. It had been smashed. Her heart jumped.

She grabbed Izzy’s arm and pointed. Izzy nodded, then pointed. Clary nodded back. They approached the door more slowly, from opposite sides. Izzy held her whip while Clary ducked below the window, pulling out her compact. She opened it and held up the mirror, angling it to see through the window.

The cold locker was lit with red lights, and full of glass cases holding tubes of some sort. They were scary red lights, Clary thought, the kind of red lights that flashed in a submarine disaster movie when it started to sink. Something moved—she started, then collected herself and held the mirror up again. It was just her shaky hand.

She signaled Izzy that the coast was clear, and stood. Holding up her seraph blade, she covered Izzy as she opened the door.

Clary ducked in, blade out, turning right, turning left—

A shape flew towards her and hit her right in the chin—an elbow—Clary cried out, dropping, but not before the arm grabbed her and wrapped another arm around her face.

“Hey!”

There was a thump and a crash and Clary struggled, trying to break free—unable to breathe—“Let go of that!” “Let go of _her!” Crash_. She heard the sound of Izzy’s whip and another smash—then the arm lowered, and she could see.

Izzy and Valentine were squaring off in the middle of the cold locker, bathed in alarm-red light. There were two smashed cases and a tube of gray leaking on the floor, and Izzy was holding another one in her hand. Clary finally recognized the tubes: ice cores, like the ones from the Arctic they used to study climate change. The room was full of them. Some crony of Valentine’s was holding onto Clary and, for all her training, she could not get free. Valentine was speaking snidely to her friend.

“It’s a simple proposition,” Valentine was saying. “Not too complex for even you thick-skulled Lightwoods to understand...”

“Screw you,” Izzy replied, brandishing her whip. “You can’t have the ice.”

“Then you can’t have Clary,” Valentine replied, shrugging. “I’ll just take her with me instead. Our family’s been separated for far too long.”

“Let her go or I’ll smash this ice too,” Izzy said.

“I can get ice anywhere,” Valentine said. “But where can you get a new gal pal?”

Izzy’s face contorted angrily, and Clary saw a sudden resemblance to her brother.

“No!” Clary shouted. “Smash it, Izzy!”

“Up to you, Isabelle Lightwood...” He barked an order over his shoulder. “Open the portal.”

“It’s ready,” said a voice from the back of the room. Clary frowned. She didn’t hear any portal noise.

“Bring her over,” Valentine ordered, pointing at her and her captor. He pushed Clary forward roughly and she kicked, struggling and squirming.

“No! Izzy, smash it! Izzy!”

Valentine gestured Clary and her captor towards the portal in the back. “I don’t think Isabelle here has the guts to—”

“No,” Isabelle said. “Wait.”

“Izzy!”

Isabelle stepped towards Valentine, holding out the ice core. He took it, but she did not let go.

“Let Clary go,” Izzy said in a low voice.

Valentine snapped his fingers. Clary was free, and shaking. She stumbled towards Izzy, arms out.

“Don’t give it to him!”

But he was already stepping away, ice core in hand, and disappearing into the shadows. Clary followed, but found the back of the room empty. Just more glass cases.

“Dammit!”

She heard the door burst open and familiar voices speaking urgently. The rest of the team had arrived, and began sweeping the room. Izzy walked out of the locker, rubbing her face tiredly. Clary stared after her, jaw slack, heart still thumping.

*   *   *

_January 11, 2017_

_Waxing Gibbous_

_Night_

Magnus stared at the array of papers on his desk. The shadowhunters were out on their Oxford mission—Clary had said they would call. He tried not to think about Alec, on the mission, in harm’s way. He focused on the research in front of him.

He had narrowed it down to three spells. There was a spell for switching matter, which Magnus had found deep in an unremarkable alchemist’s diary; a spell that could supposedly stop time, which had Magnus skeptical; and a binding spell. The binding spell was, in his opinion, the most viable and most dangerous. It was a complex ceremony, trapping the victim until they complied with the caster’s wishes. Valentine could use it to possess one of the vault’s guards, or one of the Clave senators with the power to unlock it. He would need access to the target of the binding spell, though—an object to bind them—and that could be anyone, and anything.

He shuffled through the papers for the thousandth time. Finding these obscure and ancient spells had not been easy, but he had done it by comparing the list of ingredients. Some of the ingredients Valentine had sought were on the binding list, while others were on the time list. A handful of these were also on the matter-switching list. But none was a perfect match. And each had essential ingredients that, as far as they knew, Valentine did not have.

Magnus held up the list for the time spell. Spells were always written cryptically, but there was one thing on here he just could not place.

_Air from ancient skies_

Magnus frowned. It was a time spell, but to get that, you would need a time machine already, wouldn’t—?

 _Zzzz._ His phone.

“Hello, biscuit.”

“Hi Maguns.”

“Jocelyn,” he said in surprise. “Is Clary alright?”

“Yeah, just a little shaken up. She wanted me to call you.”

“Did the mission go okay?”

“Well, no more successful than usual, but everyone’s fine. She and Isabelle came across Valentine breaking into an ice core lab at the college. One of his henchmen grabbed Clary and almost pulled her through the portal with him—but she got away.”

“Wow...” said Magnus. Running into your evil dad was an experience that... well. He could empathize. “Wait. Did you say ice core?”

“Yeah, that’s why I called,” Jocelyn said. “He stole an ice core sample from the lab. It’s a pretty valuable one, apparently one of the deepest they’ve ever pulled up from the Arctic.”

Magnus stared at the paper in his hand.

_Air from ancient skies..._

“Does that help?” Jocelyn was saying.

“It... does...” Magnus said slowly. His mind was racing. “Yes, it helps. Thanks very much Jocelyn. Tell the team I should have answers in the morning.”

“Answers?” she said. “What kind of—”

“Have to go,” Magnus interrupted. “Thanks again, Jocelyn.”

He hung up over her motherly sounds. This was it. Valentine needed those ice core samples for those bubbles of air—of course—for the time spell. It all made sense. Magnus folded the paper hastily and yanked on his jacket. He swept aside the papers from the two discarded spells and gazed at the map beneath. A map of the nation of Idris.

He had been quite transparent with the New York Coalition. Unusually transparent for a high warlock. In large part that had been due to Alec. But that was over now. Magnus had always trafficked in information—and the less he depended on some cobbled-together alliance with shadowhunters, vampires, and an ex, the better. He had shared his tracking map with them, his research, his library, all his progress with the spells. But he hadn’t shared everything.

He ran his fingers over the map, over its date—fifty years old. Where his fingers slid across the paper, the lines began quivering. Lines delineating rivers seemed to ripple. Lake Lyn shimmered. The city bustled. Magnus was not interested in the city, though. He circled his finger down around an open space, miles from the capital. A distant and ancient estate house, one that did not appear on any modern map. One that, supposedly, burned down almost twenty years ago. But this was not a modern map. And that estate had not burned down.

Magnus circled his finger round the little rectangle once, twice, and a single, blinking dot appeared. It was true he had not been able to track Jocelyn or Valentine, but the same was not true for Jace. After the Lightwoods had gotten his message of ‘betrayal,’ Magnus had snuck into his room at the Institute and taken a few of his possessions, to try tracking. In an unusual oversight, Valentine had not shielded Jace’s location from tracking. There he was. And where he was, Magnus knew, his father would be too.

*   *   *

_January 11, 2017_

_Waxing Gibbous_

_Night_

The moon was nearly full. It was almost midnight on the fourth night since Maia and Lily had watched the lake ice get turned to mirrors. They had tried splitting up for two nights, one watching the lake and one the Accords Hall, but no sightings yet. Tonight, they were side by side in front of the Accords Hall, hiding in between two pillars, eyes on the plaza below.

Maia felt antsy and anxious. Some of it had to do with the moon, some with the tension. She and Lily had barely talked since their heart to heart, sort of, thing, last week. Lily was so good with words—Maia was not. She wanted to ask her, how she’d become a vampire, if she really understood Maia because of the—Maia swallowed, clenching her jaw—if she really understood Maia because she understood her trauma... But would it help to talk about it? Luke always said it would. Maia just wasn’t good with words.

She heard Lily’s breathing change next to her. She looked up. Lily’s eyes were following a dark figure, crossing the snowy plaza. In one hand, they held something that reflected the light.

Maia’s hand gripped Lily’s arm, watching the figure traverse the snow. Before their eyes, the figure stopped, pocketed the mirror, and shimmered. For a second, they seemed to disappear completely. Maia stared, squeezing Lily’s arm, not daring to blink. Then they resolved into a human shape, a little shorter, wearing a square-shouldered jacket and a militaristic cap.

“A glamour,” Lily whispered, her words making no steam.

As they watched, the fake guard kept walking, crossing the plaza to the Clave senate.

“We have to follow th—”

Maia broke off, seeing Lily’s face. Lily’s eyes had fallen on Maia’s hand, still tight on her arm. One of Lily’s eyebrows was raised.

Maia’s heartbeat quickened. She had grabbed the vampire without thinking, someone to hold onto. But when was the last time that had happened? When was the last time she had willingly, even through gloves and a down jacket, touched _anyone_?

Maia unclenched her fingers slowly. She released Lily’s arm. “Sorry,” she whispered. The cold air seemed to suck her mouth dry.

Lily only shook her head. Her eyes were not offended or annoyed. With anyone else, Maia might have feared rebuke or embarrassment, but no such feeling even occurred to her. Maia and Lily stared at each other. Maia’s puffs of breath bloomed in the air between them.

Lily understood.

It was Lily who ended the moment, tilting her head just to the side. Maia nodded. She followed the vampire out of their hideout and onto the plaza. They followed the fake guard towards the door of the Clave senate, hesitating as they opened it, then following through. Inside the lobby, Maia and Lily lost sight of them—but found a trail of watery tracks from the melting snow on their boots. The women followed the trail, up the main staircase and down a side hallway, through an _officials only_ door (Lily raising her eyebrows conspiratorially at Maia), past the back offices, to a final, maintenance exit.

Maia went first, pushing the door slowly and peering through. It opened onto a balcony over the Senate floor. The catwalk curved around the ceiling of the senate, lined with wires and high-voltage lights. A distant rattle, growing more distant. Footsteps. Valentine’s operative was getting away.

With a glance back at Lily, Maia scrambled out onto the catwalk and crouch-walked after them. She saw them through the grate floor—descending a ladder, further ahead. The operative descended to the area behind the high senate podium. There were three flags there—the Idris flag, the shadowhunter emblem, and the flag of the Accords. Behind them, hanging on the wall, was a mirror.

Maia narrowed her eyes. The fake guard, glancing around, pulled out the shrunken mirror. With a wave of their hand, the seelie mirror re-grew to a meter wide and a foot tall. They then raised their arms, measuring the dimensions of the mirror hanging on the wall. Then, they waved their arms again, and the mirror at their feet grew to the same size. Next to her, Lily stiffened.

Working quickly, they unhooked the mirror from the wall and set it down, then picked up the seelie mirror and hung it on the same hook. Even from their upper angle, Maia could see that the mirror did not reflect the correct scene—instead of the senate room, it showed gnarled roots and dirt. With another wave and shimmer, the operative below glamoured the mirror. The reflection rippled, then resolved into a replica of the senate floor. A reflective glamour.

Maia’s heart was pounding. She exchanged a look with Lily. This was it.

The operative stepped back, still holding the original mirror, and appraised their work. Then they turned the senate mirror and carefully slid it through the seelie one. It vanished through the portal.

Maia’s heart suddenly jumped. She realized what they would do next.

“They’re gonna go through!” she hissed. “We have to stop them!”

“Hey!” Lily yelled. Her voice rang through the empty, domed room.

The operative jumped back from the mirror, looking round.

“Hey!” she yelled again. “Stop right there!”

Maia dove towards the ladder. The operative took off running.

“Stop!” Maia yelled, hitting the floor and sprinting after. She heard Lily behind her, yelling too.

They ran through the rows of senate seats to the heavy auditorium doors. They burst out, Maia right behind, and went left. Maia had her claws out and was slashing forward, catching a shred of their flying coat, but then they dove to the right, through some unknown door, and she kept going, momentum throwing her forward.

Maia skidded to a stop and turned around, opening the door and following them through. The operative was at a T-intersection in the hall, climbing up on a table, knocking a vase of flowers down. There was a mirror on the wall. They had their leg through it.

“Hey!” shouted Maia. “Stop!”

“Eat it, Moon Child,” the operative spat, and suddenly a dark shape hurtled through the air from the other hallway. Lily tackled them full-on, and they both went flying from the table.

“Lily!”

Maia rushed towards her. The operative was twisting away, scrambling up to his feet. “He’s getting away!” Lily cried. Maia sped up as, limping, the spy fled down the hall.

A door slammed down the hall, so hard that the glass pane shattered. Maia reached the shattered door and threw it open, hurried down the stairs towards his footsteps, and through another door.

She burst out into a wide, carpeted, candle-lit hallway. Maia stopped, arms swinging. Where had he gone? She stared, eyes wide, at the sumptuous rug. Among its floral patterns, there were irregularities... drops of blood. Her eyes followed them, darting down the hall. There was a table against the far wall, decorated silver plaques and plates and awards. A few were knocked over. Above the table, a wide, shining mirror.

Her thumping heart twisted. She’d lost them.

Footsteps behind her—Lily’s—and Maia was crossing the rug, looking up at the huge mirror. They had disappeared through it, back to Valentine’s base, or camp, or whatever.

“Did they go through?” Lily panted. Maia nodded silently. “Dammit.”

Lily was catching her breath. Maia was almost to the mirror now.

“At least we understand more now,” Lily said. “We know what they were doing with the... Maia? What are you doing?”

Maia was clambering up onto the table. She looked into the mirror, and her brown eyes looked back. She saw her frazzled hair and winter coat and blood-spattered scarf. She slowly touched her scarf, lowering it. She touched her scar lightly, feeling the bump, and the Maia in the mirror did too. Her mottled scar, half-disguised by makeup half-rubbed off. She reached out, to touch the scar in the mirror—

“Maia, no!”

Her hand sank through the glass. With a chill, she felt the air on the other side. It was cool and damp. She gasped, pulling her finger back.

“Maia!” Lily said. She was standing next to the table, head level with Maia’s knees, wringing her hands. “What the hell are you doing?”

Maia’s heart was racing.

“I’m going to look through,” she said.

“What?”

She looked down at Lily’s horrified face. “I’m going to look through. Just to see. I’ll just stick my head through.”

“But...” Lily let her hands drop. “What if you get sucked through?”

Maia didn’t answer, just held out her hand. Lily stared at it, then at Maia. Maia gave a tiny nod. Lily reached up and took her hand, and Maia pulled her up onto the table.

Lily quickly loosened her grip, clearly expecting Maia to end the contact. But Maia did not let go. Lily’s hand was cool and hard, surprisingly callused.

“I’ll look through,” Maia said. “Hold on to me.”

Lily’s eyes were wide. She nodded.

Maia tore her eyes away from Lily’s and looked back at the mirror. Her face, blotchy and petulant, looked back. Clenching her jaw, Maia stuck her head through the glass.

The first thing that hit her was the earthy smell. Second, the bizarre sensation of her body in one place and her head in another. She thought involuntarily of Sirius Black, communicating via Floo Powder.

The dark room around her came into view as her eyes adjusted. It was an underground room, a cavern or a poorly maintained basement. This room was long and wide, stretching almost too far for her to see the furthest wall. The walls were dirt, with roots snaking through, thick as the walls of the seelie town they had visited.

But hanging on these walls, she saw, with a chill, were a hundred mirrors. And they did not reflect each other or the room. Each had a different room, some angles of the same room. Mahogany walls, hard-backed chairs, Idris emblems, Accords flags. Portals directly into the heart of the Idris government.

Maia could still feel Lily’s hand, gripping hers. The contact, skin-on-skin, was sending ripples up her arm. Discomfort. A tiny sliver of hope and warmth, but mostly, discomfort. She liked Lily, but she wanted to let go. But she could not.

She stared around the room, looking at each mirror. There were so many, enough for a small army to pass through quickly. And th—were those voices?

“He came out of here?” a voice was saying. A familiar voice?

“Yes, he said he was followed in the Senate building,” another voice replied. A light flicked on, filling the room with harsh white light.

Maia’s heart twisted. She was frozen. She couldn’t move, forward or backward. She focused on her hand, in Lily’s, squeezing. She heard the door unlocking, the familiar voice still speaking. She squeezed desperately, pulsing her grip—

“...if we only have two more days...?” The voice resolved itself as the door clicked open and Maia realized— _Jace—_

Lily was pulling her back, tugging desperately, and just as the blond shadowhunter stepped into the room, their eyes met.

Jace’s two-toned eyes bored into Maia’s wide ones. Lily was still pulling, but Maia was frozen. He stopped in the door, blocking the person behind.

“Uh—Jonathan?” they said.

Jace stared at Maia, not moving. She gripped Lily’s hand tighter than ever, and at last, felt herself sliding back.

“One sec,” Jace was saying. With a shimmer of glass, their eye contact broke and Maia pulled free.

The release sent Maia and Lily both flying back. They landed on the fancy rug with two thumps. Maia lay on her back, panting, staring at the gilt ceiling. Next to her, Lily breathed heavily.

“So?” Lily said at length. “What happened?”

Maia turned her head on the floor, and saw Lily, two feet away, looking back at her. She remembered the feeling of Lily’s hand in hers and for a wild second, imagined Lily’s hand resting on her cheek.

“A room full of mirrors,” Maia said, still panting. “Looking into the senate, the accords hall, mirrors all over the capital.”

Lily shook her head, looking upset but not surprised. “Enough for an army?”

“Definitely,” Maia said.

Lily sighed, her head rolling back to look at the ceiling. “Well, we did it. We cracked the case.”

“Good job, us,” Maia said.

“Now comes the hard part,” said Lily. "We tell the Clave."

*   *   *

_January 12, 2017_

_Full Moon_

_Early Morning_

Alec climbed the stairs wearily, a knot of frustration in his stomach. Yet another pointless mission.

He strode down the hall, towards the room he usually shared with Jace. He could hear Luke behind a door, on the phone with Lily and Maia. Sounded urgent. As he neared Isabelle’s room, he heard raised voices.

“...not about that, Izzy!” he heard Clary say. “I don’t matter! The mission matters!” he heard his sister retort, “Of course you _matter!_ ”

Alec slowed down, frowning.

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t even try to fight him!” Clary said.

“I was scared!” Izzy yelled. “I was scared he would hurt you!”

There was a breathless silence. Alec kept walking. That conversation was familiar.

And private. He reached his door and pushed it open with a sigh.

Standing in the doorway, he closed his eyes for a moment. In the wake of his breakup, he had been able to compartmentalize pretty well—he had no shortage of practice. But if he opened that door, looked upon the snarl of memories and conflict and love and distress... he couldn’t breathe. There was so much wrong with the way things had ended. Magnus’s trying to sacrifice himself for a few decades of happiness—how could that have been worth it? And Alec, unable to live with himself, ending it.

If anyone was going to sacrifice themselves, it wasn’t Magnus. Beautiful, self-possessed, high warlock Magnus. Not if Alec could help it. And he could.

Alec didn’t regret his choice. It was the lesser of two evils. But sometimes... he wished...

He heard Izzy’s door slam shut. Alec opened his eyes. He closed his bedroom door and sat down at his desk, flicked on the lamp. Time to try new keys in Jace’s message. The ones from this mission.

 _Ice._ Nope.

 _Oxford._ Nope.

 _Jordan_. _Good job you b..._

Alec froze. He stared at the paper. Words. Real, English words. This was it. The key was “Jordan.”

_GOOD JOB YOU BROKE THE CODE - HE ISNT TELLING ME A LOT BUT I KNOW THEYRE GOING TO JORDAN COLLEGE ON JANUARY 9TH SO HOPEFULLY THATS WHEN YOU WILL DECODE THIS - HERES WHAT I KNOW AS OF NOW - VALENTINE TRAVELING USING MAGIC MIRRORS - PLANNING A SIEGE ON IDRIS ON THE FULL MOON IN JANUARY - HE AND ARMY WILL USE THE MIRRORS TO GET INTO IDRIS UNDETECTED - THE SIEGE IS AN ATTACK BUT ALSO A DISTRACTION FROM THE VAULT - HE HAS A TIME SPELL TO BREAK IN - THATS WHAT HES COLLECTING THE PIECES FOR -_

_IF MY PLAN IS WORKING YOURE READING THIS ON JAN NINTH WHICH MEANS I NEED YOUR HELP - YOU NEED TO TELL MAGNUS - V IS GOING TO BREAK INTO THE VAULT WITH A TIME SPELL - BUT HE ALSO NEEDS THE VAULTS ORIGINAL ENCHANTER - THATS MAGNUS - WARN HIM -_

_SEE YOU SOON - JACE_

*   *   *

_January 12, 2017_

_Full Moon_

_Early Morning_

Magnus made no attempt to sneak onto the estate. He had exited the New York portal in downtown Idris, made his way discreetly out the downworlder hole in the city wall, and walked there. He had simply walked, one hand holding his collar up, the other on the paper in his pocket. Information was power, and he had it. In his mind, he had a shape of a plan—a bargain, maybe for Jace’s life, maybe something else.

The walk had taken hours. He had not cared. He was patient.

Now, at the stone gates, he saw the burned remains of the estate. _Wayland,_ the sign said. Graffiti scrawled on said, _R.I.P._ and _EAT IT_. Beyond, a ridge of black stones and charred spires of rebar were visible in the moonlight. Magnus stared, blinking slowly. The air shimmered, unwilling to reveal itself. He breathed, blinking, and the air shivered. Slowly, the truth came into view. The house loomed, opulently large and very much intact. Windows lit. Magnus squared his shoulders and headed down the walkway.

He knocked on the front door.

A confused guard led him upstairs. Heart rumbling, Magnus gripped the paper in his pocket. The guard reached for the door but Magnus waved him aside and opened it himself.

He swept into the library with a clatter, making Valentine look up from his desk in surprise—just as Magnus had wanted. Magnus smiled cordially.

“Valentine Morgenstern,” he said, voice lilting. “It’s been such a long time.”

“Magnus Bane,” Valentine said, sitting back in his chair. The room was full of old books, but lit with harsh modern fluorescence. Plastic sheeting hung over one corner. It was stained. “You look as radiant as ever.”

“Can’t say the same about you, I’m afraid,” Magnus sighed. “Life on the run has not treated you well...”

“What is it you came for, Bane?” Valentine interrupted. “You found my location, but didn’t bring all the fury of Idris with you, so far as I can tell. I assume you have some sort of deal in mind?”

“I wanted to give you a message, actually,” Magnus said. With a graceful flick, he pulled out the paper, but did not unfold it. He began to pace calmly around the room. “We’ve been tracking you, as I know you know. Watching you on your little...” He gestured vaguely— “Grocery runs. Well I wanted you to know, that we caught on. We know what you’re planning, and we have a way to stop you.”

“Oh?” said Valentine, folding his arms. “Is that so?”

Magnus stopped walking. He nodded.

Valentine, inexplicably, smiled. “Interesting. You know, Magnus, that I don’t like being lied to.”

“You don’t believe me?” Magnus said. “You don’t believe I’m holding the instructions to the spell you have spent months building?”

“I don’t believe that you and your _allies_ have a plan to stop me,” Valentine said. “Because I don’t believe they know about the spell. I don’t believe they know you’re here at all.”

Magnus stood still, holding up the paper.

“And if they don’t know you’re here, well, that’s just perfect for me, really.” He leaned to the side, opening a drawer. He rummaged around. “Magnus, my friend, why don’t you tell me what plan you _think_ you have uncovered?”

“A time-freezing spell,” Magnus said. “You got it from that book you stole, from the Iron Sister in Paris. You need the spell to access the vault.”

“And is that all?” Valentine said, opening another drawer and feeling around. “There’s nothing else you found?”

“I...” Magnus shrugged. Valentine’s confidence was concerning, making him regret coming here alone without telling anyone. But he could not let that show. “I had some other candidates, but the ice cores really gave you away...”

“That’s interesting,” Valentine said. “You know, that isn’t what I expected to give me away.” His arm stopped moving. He smiled. “It was actually this.”

He lifted his hand from the drawer, revealing a wooden carving. It was no larger than a late 20th century telephone, dark wood, worn and chipped. Magnus squinted. Was that... a tiger?

“Tell me about those other candidates,” Valentine said smoothly, giving the wooden tiger a shake.

Magnus’s blood ran cold. He recognized it. A tiger that had once belonged to a farmer’s son in Batavia.

“Magnus Bane...” said Valentine, voice sweet. He was smiling, truly. The room was getting hazy. _The binding spell._ Of course. It wasn’t just one spell, it was two. One to get around the alarm system—a time spell—and a second to open the door—using the warlock who had enchanted it.

Everything went black just before he hit the floor.

*   *   *

_January 12, 2017_

_Full Moon_

_Early Morning_

Alec was dashing up Magnus’s stairs, the decoded message crumpled in his fist. He hit the door with both hands and pounded on it.

“Magnus,” he said loudly. He knocked harder. “Magnus! Open up! Magnus!”

He fumbled the doorknob, but it was locked. With a shaking hand, Alec pulled out his stele and drew an unlock rune. He burst into the dark loft, and the familiar smells flooded over him, memories of—no— _focus_ —

Even in the dark he could still find his way. Alec strode through the darkened loft, towards the only light: the study.

He pushed open the study door, heart pounding.

“Magnus,” he breathed. But the room was empty. Only the desk was lit, a stacks of papers around a map. The map was moving, and there was a thumbtack over a dot in the southwest.

_Wayland Estate._

* * *

_To your sons and daughters_

_Bending at the altar_

_Don't you disappear in the mirror_

_again and again_

_Again and again..._


	9. Chapter Eight

_All that I keep thinking throughout this whole flight_

_Is it could take my whole damn life to make this right..._

[ [from](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18ZVAPxJVMQ&feature=youtu.be) ]

8.

_January 12, 2017_

_Full Moon_

_Morning_

Magnus came to, afloat in a warm darkness. The warmth was pressing on him, pressing on his eyelids... a red glow. He blinked, and harsh morning sunlight hit his eyes. His whole body ached. He winced silently, letting his eyes adjust. He was lying on a carpet in what looked like a study—a small room of dusty books with a mahogany desk and, appropriately, a fainting couch. Magnus rubbed his eyes, and began to rise.

Before he was even on his feet, the door crashed open. Two figures, gruff voices, swooped on him. They grabbed Magnus by the arms and hauled him out, down the hall.

They dragged him down the halls and down a flight of stairs. Magnus, still half-asleep, was trying to keep track of where they were going. Left, right, staircase, left, left—a mirror loomed at the end of the hall and, with a start, Magnus recognized one of his captors.

“Jace?” gasped Magnus.

The shadowhunter’s hardened expression hardly changed. His grip on Magnus’s arm did not loosen or tighten. Magnus stared, mouth open.

“Jace...?”

Jace did not reply.

They took him to what looked like it had, maybe, once, been a dining room. The paneled walls were hung with tapestries, but all the furniture was gone. The ornate carpet had a circle burned into it, foggy plastic sheeting covered the high windows, and one of the walls had orange tape Xs in a bizarre pattern. A metal fridge locker stood at one end. It hummed.

Jace and the other guard cast Magnus onto the floor and left him. Still dazed, the warlock stood. Valentine would be there any moment, and he had to retain as much composure as possible. He didn’t know the extent of this possession spell, he thought with a shiver. Would he remain conscious, or lose awareness? Looking around, at the orange tape Xs and stained plastic sheeting, Magnus’s heart pounded. He was scared. He couldn’t remember being this scared, not for a long time. Even when there was no one to keep him safe, he had his magic to protect himself. Now...

The door opened and Valentine appeared.

“Sleep well, Bane?” he asked.

Magnus straightened up.

“Like a baby.”

“So. Let me explain how this is going to work.” Valentine strode easily along the room. Magnus pivoted, facing him, keeping his arms loose. “In that case—” he pointed to the fridge locker— “Are the ingredients to the time-freezing spell I need you to make. On that wall—” he pointed to the tape-covered wall— “I need a portal directly into the vault. Not interested in whether that’s possible—just make it happen.”

Valentine turned back to him, hands open and easy.

“Now, you remember how the binding spell works. You do what I ask, or you die.”

Magnus made no moves. He remembered.

“Now, ‘Valentine,’ you might say,” continued Valentine, affecting a mocking tone. “‘I’d sooner die than let you get your hands on the cup!’ Well here’s what I have to say to that. You want a carrot and stick situation, don’t you?”

Magnus raised his eyebrows. He didn’t want to play along, but Valentine was leading him and he didn’t see anywhere else to go. “It depends.”

“It doesn’t,” said Valentine, swatting a hand. “It’s not a carrot and stick situation. It’s a two-stick situation.”

Magnus’s eyes narrowed. “‘Two stick situation’?”

“That’s right.” Valentine stopped pacing. He put his hand in his pocket. “I’m a plan-ahead guy. I knew I would need a backup, so I collected a bit of blood from a friend of yours.” As he spoke, he pulled a corked vial out of his pocket. Dark red. “Now, blood magic is a lot more user-friendly and, well, where I need you alive and functional, I don’t really have any use for Alec Lightwood. Battered, paralyzed, exsanguinated... No skin off my back.”

He looked back at Magnus, not needing to say anymore, letting this unspeakable reality dangle between them.

Magnus’s blood ran cold. He stared at Valentine, his veins tingling. He wished Valentine were bluffing, but he remembered Alec saying he’d felt a prick on his arm in Peru, right before the demon...

“So, it’s a simple enough system,” Valentine said. “Do as I tell you, or I’ll hex your boyfriend. And if that’s not enough to convince you, then—” he sighed— “He’ll die. And then you’ll die.”

Magnus was shaking. He fought the urge to wrap his arms around himself, or to wrap his hands around Valentine’s throat.

“No loss for the shadowhunter world, really,” Valentine said, as if to himself. “Any shadowhunter who... _dallies_ with downworlders... well, doesn’t deserve the title. Or my respect.”

“That doesn’t seem to bother Jocelyn,” Magnus said, wrestling his voice into calm.

Valentine looked up sharply. The comment seemed to have genuinely gotten to him. A tiny bloom of satisfaction opened in Magnus’s stomach.

“Watch yourself, warlock.” Valentine pointed to the case again. “The spellbook is in there. I need it ready by tonight.” He wiggled the vial of blood between his fingers. “Don’t waste time.”

Valentine left the room, leaving Magnus alone, still shaking. He almost could not believe that Alec was on the hook for this. It was nearly his worst nightmare. But he was still in control of his choices, and, if he did what he had to, Alec would not get hurt.

*  *  *

_January 12, 2017_

_Full Moon_

_Morning_

“Here?”

The Clave senator looked down at Lily with quizzical eyes.

“Yes,” said Lily.

“And that’s why you requested the mirrors be removed for this meeting?” said another senator.

“Yes,” said Lily more tersely. “And we really wish you had complied. Valentine or his spies could be listening right now.”

Two senators exchanged looks. One of them looked back down at Lily and Maia. “We just assumed it was a...” He waved a hand. “Vampire thing.”

Maia grimaced before she could stop herself. She looked over at Lily, whose eyebrows had disappeared into her bangs. Her face was still carefully neutral, but Maia could see the disgust underneath.

“No. Your honor,” she said.

Maia looked back up at the panel. They were back in the senate building, by permission, this time. It was the morning after their chase through the building, and once they’d told Luke, he had arranged an emergency session with the shadowhunter defense council.

The council was fifteen bored-looking shadowhunters, sitting behind high wooden desks wearing dumb robes, looking down at the downworlders on the marble floor. Maia and Lily, sleep-deprived and bursting with information, had spilled it all—and received only unimpressed looks.

“So, just to recap,” said one, a brunette white woman. “The attack is, supposedly, tonight, and you know this because you looked through a... mirror.”

Maia clenched her fists. “If you don’t believe us, you could try looking through the one right behind you. Go ahead, stick your head through, see what you—”

“Maia,” murmured Lily, lifting a hand towards her arm. She did not touch her.

Maia closed her mouth. They were just _so_ infuriating.

“What my associate is trying to say,” Lily said, “Is that the situation is serious. Valentine’s forces are ready to attack and they have an entry route. We’re begging you—don’t give them the advantage of surprise. Please take down all the mirrors in the capital and lock them away, and please prepare your defenses for tonight—even if they can’t come through the mirrors, they may attack the city by—”

Lily’s speech was interrupted by an echoing boom. The door. Every head turned towards the hall entrance, where a babble of voices was rising, arguing with itself—one tall figure broke away, storming down the long carpet towards the council at the head of the room. It was Alec, Maia realized. His pale, curved face was flushed and his hands were fists. Behind him, those other shadowhunters were objecting, calling after him. He ignored them.

Alec Lightwood strode to the middle of the floor, eyes on the arc of the council. “Excuse me,” he said as he reached them, then, looking at Maia and Lily, he added more quietly, “Excuse me. With respect,” he continued louder, looking back up at the council. “I understand this meeting is an intelligence report on Valentine’s plans,” he said. “I have information as well, and it’s very time-sensitive.”

Maia looked from Alec to the council and back, brow furrowed. The shadowhunter’s entrance was not having the effect she would have expected. The council was exchanging glances—some nonplussed, some actually smirking. Maia frowned. A shadowhunter backing up their story, even after a rude entrance, should have more credit with these prejudiced bureaucrats. Right?

One woman, a black woman with a short haircut, shushed her colleagues. “Let’s hear it, Lightwood,” she said.

“I have intel that Valentine’s attack is tomorrow. And—” He swallowed. “—the High Warlock of Brooklyn has been kidnapped.”

A murmur ran through the council. Maia’s heart jumped. _Magnus?_

“Valentine is going to force him to perform a spell that will allow Valentine to enter the vault containing the mortal cup, while creating a military distraction—by attacking the city—”

“Through mirrors?” said the brunette senator, obviously suppressing a smile.

Alec frowned. “What?”

“Mr. Lightwood,” said a white man with blond hair—the head of the defense council. “Thank you for corroborating what your... New Yorker friends here told us. We weren’t quite ready to believe their outlandish tale.”

Alec looked at Maia, still frowning. She rolled her eyes by way of explanation.

“However, the fact remains you are all very young. Junior warriors and representatives. And there are other conflicting interests. We simply cannot take everything you say at face value when, at the end of the day, it amounts to... the testimony of children.”

And as he said ‘children,’ Maia heard a number of other, unsaid adjectives pressing against the word. Her hands balled up again, but next to her, Lily sighed quietly. Relief.

“We will call our reserves out tonight, since they are all in Idris. We will tell them it’s a drill. They will be stationed around the perimeter of the city, at all the entrances. We will also double the guards around the Cup. If Valentine attacks, we will be ready.”

“But what about the mirrors—” Maia began.

“But what about Magnus—” Alec began at the same time.

With a wave, the head of the council cut them both off.

“Please!” he said. “Quiet. You burst in here, you bring us fanciful tales of mirrors and faeries—this is an institution of law. These halls are sacred. You _will_ show respect.”

Maia folded her arms, trembling with rage. Respect? They ask for her _respect_ , when they showed her none at all? Beside her, Alec cracked his knuckles.

“To the downworld girls,” he said. “We will not entertain your childish whims. Taking down the mirrors is nothing but an inconvenience. If anyone comes popping out, we’ll let you know.”

“But—!”

“And to you, Alec Lightwood,” the head of the council said, his face and voice dripping with disdain. “We appreciate your information. But Magnus Bane will have to take care of himself for the time being. This council will not sanction a mission to rescue your _boyfriend._ ”

Maia’s eyes widened. She looked up at Alec and, from a low angle, saw his face go from barely contained desperation to highly focused rage.

“He is _not,_ ” Alec said, voice low, “My boyfriend.”

“Married already?” said one of the council, and the others snickered.

 _What?_ Alec flushed even worse. Maia’s heart felt like it was disintegrating. How could they be so awful? He looked over at her, eyes wide. She thought of Lily, the uncertain warmth that Lily filled her with. How would the council treat her if they knew? Even worse?

Maia stared up at Alec bravely, shaking her head a tiny bit. _They don’t know what they’re talking about,_ she wanted to say. _Fuck them._

“...nothing else, I move to close this meeting. Is there anything further?”

“No, councillor,” said Lily’s voice, smooth and calm. “Thank you for your time.”

The knock of the gavel broke the moment between Alec and Maia. They looked away, and saw the council standing, withdrawing, chatting.

Outside, on the council steps, the air was clear and cold. The sky was cloudless and white. Maia’s seething breaths roiled out of her mouth.

“I cannot _believe_ them,” she said as soon as the doors closed. “Those racist, homophobic _assholes—_ ”

Alec was breathing hard, hands fluttering. “They’ve always been like that. But I thought... in such a serious scenario...”

“No.” Lily spoke up. Her eyes were fixed on the city below. “That’s how they operate. It doesn’t matter how serious the situation. The Clave thinks they’re superior to mundanes, but they aren’t. All institutions are based on exclusion, and most on oppression. The Clave is no different.” She back at Alec and Maia. “And it will be their undoing.”

Alec’s breath vanished into the air. Maia shivered.

“We need a plan,” said Lily.

Maia nodded.

“Yes,” said Alec. “If they won’t listen, we have to do... we have to do _something_.”

Maia nodded again.

“Alec,” said Lily. “You should rally the coalition, and rescue Magnus. Without him, Valentine can’t finish the spell.” Alec nodded. “Maia, you and I need to rally our forces.”

“Forces?” Maia said.

“The vampires and werewolves,” Lily said, looking her in the eye. “The Clave will be guarding the borders instead of the real security gap—the mirrors. I wish it didn’t fall to us to defend their prejudiced asses, but the fact is, if Idris falls, the downworld is next. We cannot let Valentine get the cup. Not under any circumstances.”

Maia glanced nervously at Alec. He nodded at her. “Lily’s right. Magnus was our best link to the warlocks—if he were here, we would ask him to call them too.”

“We need every fighter we can muster,” Lily said. “We’ll sneak them into the city and station them downtown. It’s the full moon tonight, right? The werewolves will be at their strongest. We can do this.”

Maia hesitated. “I just... I don’t think I can talk the werewolves into it. I’m fairly new, and I’m by far the youngest, and they...”

“Maia,” said Lily, looking at her with her dark, steady eyes. “I know you can do it.”

She held out her hand to Maia. Maia took it. Lily’s skin was cold and callused, and it made Maia’s skin tingle.

“Okay.”

Lily squeezed her hand gently.

“Call your forces, and I’ll call mine. Alec, you’ll organize the team to get Magnus. Get in there as soon as possible, do not wait. And Maia...” Lily looked back at her. Her heart spun. “See you tonight.”

* * *

_January 12, 2017_

_Full Moon_

_Afternoon_

Magnus lay on his back in the study. His entire body was drained. He felt like he’d climbed a mountain, and then been thrown off it.

He covered his eyes with his arm. Setting up the spell had been hard work, with little room for error. Still, he had managed to slip in some switches—some workarounds that, if certain scenarios arose, would allow him to turn it off. But those scenarios involved a rescue, and, well.

With a long sigh, Magnus sat up and looked out the window. The sun was setting a spectacular red over the bone colored countryside. He squinted against the blood light. The estate grounds were spotless, empty. Not that he had expected to see anyone, not really. No one knew he was here.

With another sigh, he laid back on the couch, cursing himself yet again. Why hadn’t he told anyone? It hadn’t even had to be Alec—just, _someone_ , someone who could help. A backup. Asking a friend for help was not an imposition, yet he never did it. Was it pride? A self-sacrificial streak? Both? He had always known he would pay the price for it. Well, he supposed, payday had arrived at last.

There was a knock at the door, and Magnus jumped. He sat up, swinging his legs to the floor, and composed himself. “Come in,” he said.

It was Jace. The blond stepped in hesitantly. All the stony stoicism of that morning was gone—he looked uncertain, more like himself.

“Magnus,” he said, voice croaking. He cleared his throat. “How are you.”

“Feel like a million bucks,” Magnus replied. “And you can tell your father I said that.”

Jace’s mouth twitched sympathetically. “I don’t blame you. I would have helped him too, if he’d threatened Alec like that.”

Magnus only raised his eyebrows at the blame comment. He would let that one slide. “If? So you _are_ here of your own free will?”

Jace ignored the question. “My father has shared a version of the plan with me,” Jace said, “The plan for tonight—but I still have some questions. About the spell.”

Magnus cocked his head.

“Go on.”

“I know it freezes time,” said Jace, “But how, like...”

“That’s not exactly it,” Magnus interrupted, raising a finger. “To stop time is physically impossible. We would create a black hole. The spellbook advertises it as a freezing spell, but in reality, it just slows things down—way, way down.”

“Then—” Jace frowned, confused. “How does that even help?”

“I designed the vault that holds the Mortal Cup, or, you know, the shards of it we still have,” Magnus said, gesturing. “It’s in the Idris Senate basement in a reinforced room, about the size of, well, about the size of this room. In the middle, on a dais, the Mortal Cup shards sit. Now, the outside of the vault is pretty well protected, well-guarded, spatial displacement, all that. It’s nothing compared to the inside. The dais itself has sensors that that are triggered if the cup shards so much as wobble. The sensors trigger an EMP pulse, alarms in the senate and the military, and shutdown of all the exits to the building. They also trigger spells including a knockout spell, a tongue-tying spell, and a physical freezing spell. Overall, a pretty tightly designed vault, if I do say so myself,” Magnus finished. “And I do.”

“But there is a flaw,” Jace pressed. “Why will the time spell work?”

Magnus gave him a look. “The time spell slows down time, or, arguably, speeds it up for the user. The spells in the vault are as instantaneous as enchantments can be—less than a quarter second. But if Valentine has a time dilating spell, he can sneak in and out before the sensors react.”

“Oh...” said Jace thoughtfully. He looked around, nodding. “And how are we getting in? He mentioned a portal?”

Magnus sighed. “Yes. The vault is portal-proof of course, but your lovely father simply had me remove that protection. I undid the spell from here. Not so elegant, but... effective enough. I’ll activate the time spell, open the portal, and you two will hop in and out before the Clave is any the wiser.”

Jace nodded again.

“Interesting.”

“Why so many questions, blondie?” Magnus said, eyebrows narrowed. It was no intelligence breach to share this when Valentine already knew it all, of course, but why did Jace care?

“I’m just curious,” he said.

“You don’t think dad will mind you snooping around behind his back?”

“I think he’ll appreciate the initiative,” Jace replied. His words were in no way aligned with what Magnus knew of his father, but his face was bizarrely confident.

Magnus raised an eyebrow.

“Anyway, it’s not quite behind his back,” said Jace, “Because he sent me here. He needs one more spell. A failsafe.”

“A failsafe?”

“Some way of destroying the cup. If the plan goes wrong and the Clave gets to us. So w—so he can destroy it. There must be a way to destroy it. Right? A disintegration spell? Or something?”

Magnus frowned. “Well, I don’t know about a disintegration spell,” he said. “But I do know a neat little bomb that should do the trick.”

Jace looked interested. “A bomb?”

“Yes,” said Magnus, standing and picking up a notepad and fountain pen from the desk. “I’ll write you the ingredients. It’s not too complicated.” He shook the pen and started writing.

“He needs it in the next few hours,” Jace said. “Is that possible?”

Magnus finished writing and tore out the paper. “If you bring me these things, I can have the bomb ready in five minutes. Is that good enough for him?”

Jace took the paper, looked at it, and then nodded.

“I can get these.”

“Excellent,” said Magnus.

Jace turned and walked out, then hovered in the doorway for another moment. Magnus studied him.

“Is there something else, Jace?”

Jace looked up, frowning. “No,” he said. “No. Thanks, Magnus.”

He left, closing the door and locking it. Magnus sank back down on the couch. He barely had the energy to wonder what Jace was up to.

Rubbing his temples, the warlock gave a last look out the window. He was glad, at least, for the chance to help with insubordination. Why was it so much easier for him to give help than accept it? To even ask?

“I’ve been alone for too long,” he murmured aloud.

And he knew this about himself. Knowing was the first step to changing. With a sigh, he closed his eyes again. _Alec._ He hadn’t even tried changing, had he? And if he hadn’t been able to change for _Alec_ , would he ever be able to?

He did not have much hope, he thought. And he might not have much more time.

*  *  *

_January 12, 2017_

_Full Moon_

_Evening_

The basement of the Lightwood’s Idris home was not an ideal setting for a meeting, but it was what they had. Alec was standing with Izzy at the head of the room, in front of the makeshift lectern—a cobwebbed chair. Most of the invited coalition was already there. He cracked his knuckles anxiously, looking at Izzy. She shook her head.

“It’s going to be okay, Alec,” she said.

“But what if—”

“No use what-if-ing,” Izzy said. “You know that.”

“And you know I’ll do it anyway,” Alec countered.

Izzy folded her arms.

“I just... keep thinking,” Alec said, looking away. “Why wasn’t I there? Why didn’t I warn him? If I had just been fast enough to...”

“Alec, stop,” said Izzy. “You don’t have to protect everyone all the time. The best you can do for the people you care about is your best. And you always do. And listen,” she went on, touching his arm.

He looked up, brow furrowed.

“The people you care about also have autonomy. They make choices. You need to accept those choices. Jace chooses to stay with Valentine, for whatever his reasons—Magnus chooses to go to Valentine alone, for whatever his reasons. You need to _trust_ them. Trust them to know their limits. Okay?”

Alec glanced away, opening his mouth to argue, but there was a click as the door opened. They both looked up. Luke shut the door behind himself and nodded at Alec.

Alec nodded back, and turned to face the room.

“Thank you all for coming. We’re here to form a plan to rescue the two missing from our ranks, and in doing so, prevent Valentine from getting the cup. Let me explain the plan as it stands.”

He turned round the laptop he had borrowed from Izzy, showing them the screen. With the help of an Idris map and some stats, he explained Maia and Lily’s findings with the mirrors and their plan to rally vampire and werewolf troops. The attendees, sitting on the basement floor, listened intently: Clary, biting her lip; Izzy, next to him, avoiding looking at Clary; Simon, who had snuck into Idris that evening and was bouncing his knee; Luke, arms crossed, focused; Jocelyn, sitting behind her daughter, chin high; and Raj, who had arrived without invitation, knowing everything without any of them having told him, and completely ready to help. Alec explained, at times working hard to keep his voice from shaking. At last, he held up the map he’d taken from Magnus’s study.

“Now, what we need is to get into the Wayland estate. Luke and Jocelyn are the only ones who have ever been there, so any descriptions you have, would be helpful.”

The couple exchanged looks and nodded. “Anything you need, Alec.”

“Thanks. We also need a portal onto the estate—we don’t know what wards we’re working with, well—” He broke off. “We don’t know anything, really.”

There was a buzzing silence. Looking over their heads, at the rough stone foundation of the house, he got a sudden image of Magnus, broken and bleeding on a pentagram somewhere. His stomach twisted. What if they were too late?

“Alec,” said Izzy from next to him. He looked down at her, her dark eyes sympathetic.

“Sorry,” he said. “Unprofessional.”

The gathered coalition murmured ‘no-don’t-worry-about-it’s. One voice rang out above the others.

“I have a contact for the portals,” said Raj.

“You do?” said Alec, looking up.

Raj nodded. “I can call her up, have her meet us at the edge of the city. She can easily open a portal between there and the estate, evaluate the wards for us.”

“Wow,” said Alec. “That would be amazing.”

“No problem,” said Raj, standing and pulling out his phone. “I’ll call her now.”

As he closed the door, Alec looked at the rest of them. “That’s... that’s great. Once we’re inside, I say, we don’t mess around. Three fight off the guards, two of us go for Jace, and one for Magnus. We’re no Idris strike team, but we have vengeance on our side.”

Izzy raised an eyebrow. Simon raised his fists. “I’m with you, Alec. Let’s get those bastards.”

Alec gave him a look. “Thank you, Simon. Anyone else?”

“Me too,” said Clary. “This is the only way to stop Valentine.”

“If Clary is in, we are too,” said Jocelyn, and Luke nodded. “We’ll join the strike team.”

Alec smiled at them, nodding. Where Mayrse had once been part of the coalition, Jocelyn had replaced her. The irony of this was not lost on him. “Thank you.”

And last, he looked over at Isabelle.

“Izzy?”

His sister straightened up, and smiled. “Of course, big brother,” she said. “You don’t even have to ask.”

Alec smiled back. “Great,” he said. “So let’s—”

The door opened again. Raj.

“My contact is good to go,” he said. “She’s meeting us at the edge of town in thirty minutes.”

Alec looked round the room. “We good to go?”

Everyone nodded.

“Alright then. Let’s move out.”

*  *  *

_January 12, 2017_

_Full Moon_

_Evening_

The full moon was already high in the sky above Idris. The snowy plaza glowed. It had been no small feat, but Maia had convinced them—almost every battle-ready werewolf in New York City—to come through a portal, sneak through the hole in the city wall, and discreetly gather in the Plaza of Accords. The square was full of werewolves, huddled in jackets. Maia’s pride at gathering such a force—almost a hundred warriors—was ebbing now in the cold harsh moonlight. She stood on the bench and looked down the cobblestone streets.

_Where was Lily?_

Convincing her companions was one thing. But leading them in battle? Alone? Without the vampires, their force was tiny, and without Lily to lead, there was no—

A murmur sprung up among the crowd. “There!” someone said. Maia turned—and saw.

Striding up the street was a mass of bare-armed figures. They flooded out from between two buildings—at least two hundred, if not three. Vampires. Weapons of every sort in their hands. Grim, pale faces set. The werewolves greeted them warily. But Maia had eyes for only one.

“Lily!” she cried, jumping down from the bench. The vampire leader looked round, and Maia hit her full-on, throwing her arms around her. Lily stiffened with surprise, then relaxed, hugging Maia back.

“Maia!” Lily said, voice warm. “You did it!”

Maia let go. Stepping back, she smiled at her. “I did,” she said.

“I knew you could,” Lily said.

Maia opened her mouth to answer, then closed it.

“Well, it’s going to be brutal,” Lily said. “Getting them here was one thing—but this fight won’t be easy.” She shoved her hands in her pockets. “I don’t want to sugarcoat it, Maia. This might be goodbye.”

Maia clasped and unclasped her hands.

“Listen, Lily...” she said. “About that. I wanted to uh, to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“You... remember those perception mirrors? In the city?” God, it felt like so long ago. Lily nodded. “I know you said you didn’t care much about mirrors and reflections and perception and all that. I wish I was the same. Maybe, maybe I will be someday. But not yet. So I wanted to tell you how... how meaningful it was, to see your perception of me.”

She searched for the words. Lily was staring at her.

“I was bitten by my boyfriend,” Maia said. “Things started out good, of course, then got bad. Then, he got bitten, and he got worse. I didn’t question it, I was in too deep already. But then he bit me and...

“I fled. I lived alone in the woods for a while. After a few months I wound up in NYC and found Luke soon after. He trained me, gave me a job and a purpose. And some of it, he understands. But some of it, he doesn’t. That my whole life was changed by this—this abusive boyfriend. I would still be human. But you know, if he hadn’t bitten me, I would probably still be with him. Luke’s parabatai turned on him, so he understands in part. But the truth is, that abuse didn’t change my life either. It started a much, much longer time ago. It started at—it started at home.”

She took a deep breath, fighting to control her trembling voice.

“Doesn’t matter. I won’t get into it. What I’m trying to say is. Perception matters when you’re a survivor. Who believes you, who sides with who; who believes you, and treats you differently.

“ _You_ get it. When I looked in that mirror, I saw myself—just me, strong and unashamed. Just Maia. You see _me._ Or, the me that’s closest to true. The me I want to be.”

Lily finally spoke. “As far as I’m concerned, you are that person,” she said in a low voice.

Maia shook her head in amazement. The winter wind howled around them.

“Well I... I wanted you to know how much it meant. And,” she continued, “I want you to know how I would have seen you. I know I can’t show you in a magic mirror, but I want you to know how amazing I think you are. You’re strong and smart and determined and you don’t give a fuck. You’re so self-possessed and honest and you just, you just go after what you want and what you think is right. And you read so much and I... I know you don’t care what other people think, and I get that. But I care what you think. So I wanted you to know, what I think. Which is that you’re amazing. And that—even if we die tonight—I’m glad we got to know each other.”

Lily’s face was round with awe, her eyes wide and shining, her lips slightly open. Maia’s heart was thumping. Everything she had just said rose between them and disappeared into steam and together they stood, on the precipice, on a moment of choice.

“Maia...”

Lily’s eyes flicked down from Maia’s, and with a wild leap of the heart, Maia knew she was looking at her lips. Lily looked back up into Maia’s eyes, then back down at her lips. Maia knew Lily would never do anything without her express consent, but it—

Maia leaned in and kissed Lily.

Her lips were cold but soft, alive, and kissed her back joyfully. Maia wrapped her arms around Lily’s neck and kissed her, and Lily’s hands landed gently on the small of her back, and Maia could feel Lily’s mouth smiling against hers. Maia laughed, tilting her head down just a bit, so their lips broke apart but their noses stayed together. Lily laughed too.

“I’m glad we got to know each other too,” she murmured. Maia grinned, and kissed her again.

At last they broke apart. Maia felt warm all over, and Lily’s face looked a tiny bit flushed. The crowd around them was murmuring, glancing at them. Lily, letting her hand slide from Maia’s arm, stepped up onto a bench. She raised a hand over the crowd.

“Downworlders!” she yelled. “Tonight, we fight for our freedom. We do not fight for the shadowhunters who hate and disrespect us. We fight for our brothers and sisters whom Valentine has slain. We fight to protect the cup so he does not hurt any more. And we fight for the innocent children of Idris—who may yet be our allies. Most of all, we fight for our rights. We will stand up to tyranny. We will look fascist, racist, genocidal, charismatic leaders in the eye and say _no!_ Not here. Not on our watch.”

She pumped her fist, and the crowd cheered.

“We fight back!”

“We fight back!” they called back. Her eyes found Maia again, in the crowd, and Maia smiled up at her.

“We fight back!”

*  *  *

_January 12, 2017_

_Full Moon_

_Night_

“There you go. That should be everything. For the bomb.”

Jace tapped the top of the box and stepped awkwardly back. Magnus surveyed it and then the shadowhunter with skepticism.

“I guess I’ll leave you to it, then,” said Jace, beginning to turn.

“No need,” sighed Magnus. He sat forward and opened the box, appraising its contents. “It will only take a moment.”

He started unscrewing vials and picking leaves off stems, working his exhausted fingers as quickly as they could go. Jace folded his arms and stood in place, swaying a bit. Magnus glanced up. Their eyes met briefly.

“Alec’s coming, you know,” said Jace.

“Is that so,” said Magnus, counting out some komodo dragon scales.

“It is,” said Jace quietly. Magnus dropped the scales into the bottle and started on the mortar and pestle.

“So would that be a good, or bad thing for you?” Magnus asked, grinding up the bone. “I thought you were here of your own volition.”

“I am,” said Jace, shifting. Magnus poured the bone dust into the funnel and down into the bottle. “Doesn’t mean I don’t need his help.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows with mild interest. He corked the bottle and started shaking it.

“And how do you know he’s coming?”

“Because I asked,” Jace said, shrugging. “You can always depend on Alec.”

Magnus’s little bomb had started to glow—it was done. He held it up, then held it out to Jace. The shadowhunter unfolded his arms and took it.

“Tell you _father_ ,” said Magnus with delicate emphasis, “It needs to be smashed on or next to the cup, and it will destroy it.”

Jace held the little bottle, looking at it. He nodded slowly. “Got it. Thanks, Magnus.”

He looked at the warlock, and they stared at each other for another moment. Magnus felt themselves abbutting something large and unsaid, something Jace was holding.

Then the potion disappeared from his hand into his pocket and he was nodding goodbye. Magnus nodded back slowly. The door closed and locked behind Jace.

_You can always depend on Alec._

*  *  *

_The weight of water, the way you taught me_

_to look past everything I had ever learned;_

_The final word in the final sentence you ever uttered to me was love_


	10. Chapter Nine

_I watch the sea creep round the corner,_

_Connect the dots from here to you..._

[ [from](https://vimeo.com/27530537) ]

9.

January 12, 2017

_Full Moon_

_Night_

The high windows of the Accords Hall cast slanting beams of moonlight in the dusty air. Maia moved through the beams, stepping across the checkered floor. Lily moved ahead of her, and a small team of vampires and werewolves followed them. Maia, looking at the back of Lily’s head, touched a gloved hand to her own lips, and almost smiled.

They made their way down the corridor into the Hall of the Accords. The cavernous chamber was all marble and moonlight, the domed ceiling ringed with windows. From the ring of windows, moonlight poured in like a curved waterfall, down, down, pooling in the center of the room. Maia’s eyes adjusted to the light, searching the walls for... there. Mirrors.

They were long and slender, between the pillars around the circular hall. Maia gestured to the team, pointing at the mirrors and telling them to spread out. The group of fighters fanned out, passing down the aisles of the Accords Hall, between the benches, around the circular stage. The werewolves stretched and cracked their necks, preparing. The vampires with arrows nocked them. Those with swords drew them.

Maia and Lily took up a position in front of one of the mirrors. They exchanged a look and a nod. Maia’s heart beat an uneasy tattoo against her ribcage. They braced themselves.

* * *

Alec was watching as Raj’s warlock contact bustled around their group, glamouring everyone. The portal crackled and glowed beside them. The warlock’s name was Catarina. She had blue skin and a ponytail, and shivered in a New York jacket and two scarves. She told them she had cased the Wayland estate, and found the wards to be fairly weak. They could get in with invisibility glamours, she said. So she was casting them.

Alec watched his teammates disappear one by one into thin air. He cracked his knuckles. The warlock reached Izzy, second-to-last, who thanked her as she worked the spell.

“You’re welcome,” said Catarina. “I would say ‘no problem,’ but... I’m going to be late for my shift. So ‘no problem’ would be a lie,” she said, completing the spell with a snap of her fingers. Izzy shimmered and melted away. Alec swallowed.

“We appreciate it,” he said as she started waving her fingers.

“It’s not for you,” she said bluntly. “It’s for Magnus.”

Alec’s heart twinged.

“Magnus?”

“Yes,” she said after a stream of Chthonian. “I’m no warrior, but I’ll do what I can for him.”

Alec, with a start, realized this must be _Catarina—the_ Catarina. The ‘Cat’ Magnus was always talking about. He’d told Alec so many times how he just _had_ to introduce them.

“That’s... well, thank you,” Alec said.

“Heard you two broke up,” she said, ignoring his stammering. “Afraid you were going to break his immortal heart, huh?”

Alec frowned.

“Well I’ve known him a long time,” she said. “His problem is he just needs a little more help than he’s willing to ask for.”

With a final snap, she completed the glamour. Alec’s hands and nose disappeared from his peripheral vision, and he looked down in amazement. He saw nothing. He was a floating pair of eyes.

“But—” he began, looking back at Catarina.

She was already stepping back towards the portal, by Raj. He raised a hand to the empty snow before him.

“Everyone ready?”

Silence.

“Alright. No time to waste. You need to get in there and get Magnus and Jace out. I don’t know how far you’ll get before you’re detected, but remember: keep each other safe. Have each other’s backs. You’ll get through this.”

“On the other side of the portal is the gate to the Wayland estate,” Catarina explained. “It has a glamour that makes it look destroyed. but you need only concentrate to see the truth.”

“Good luck, guys,” Raj said.

A moment later, they stood under the full moon on an Idris country road. The portal gulped shut behind them. Before them was a formerly ornate gate, now burned and twisted, and beyond that, Alec saw the mangled remains of a building.

The night was frigid and clear, the full moon lighting the snowy world bright as day. Around him, the team was silent and invisible—where their stealth training usually made them silent and invisible figuratively, tonight, it was literal. Without their detectable presence, Alec felt anxious and alone.

“Alright team,” said Luke’s rumbling voice. “Let’s do this.”

Alec watched as tracks began to appear in the empty snow. He followed his invisible team, bow in hand.

It was a long slog through the snow towards the black mass of burned house. As they approached, Catarina’s words echoed in his ears: _concentrate to see the truth._ He stared at the ashes and focused. Slowly, as if viewed through a blizzard, a shadow began to rise. A building—a towering castle estate, with spires and stone walls and every window lit. Alec stopped in his tracks. He had the strongest sensation of deja-vu. But he hadn’t been here before... had he?

Someone bumped into him and said, “Hey, keep moving,” and he stumbled forward. His hands were trembling.

With a silent rune and an unlock rune, they opened the front door. There were no guards in the foyer or the extravagant lobby, though the house was fully lit. Candles and gas lamps emptied every room of shadows. Alec frowned. Where were the guards?

Following the sound of muffled voices, they headed down a hall, through patches of candlelight from wall sconces and patches of moonlight from high windows. Alec looked down and saw no feet below him, only his shadow.

The voices grew closer—a great murmuring, like a crowd. They came to a flight of stairs upward and climbed. They found themselves at the end of an opulent hall. It was lined with doorways and hung with chandeliers. Alec’s eyes moved down to the other end of the hall—a pair of carved wooden doors loomed. Guards stood on either side of those doors.

Before them, a column of fully armed soldiers was passing across the hall. They marched out one side door and through another, boots clacking on the tile floor. Some were shadowhunter soldiers, dressed all in black, runes on their bared arms; others were Forsaken, lumbering in chains; and a handful of others appeared, to Alec’s astonished eyes, to be downworlders—seelies, warlocks, a couple vampires, and a werewolf. They hurried through the hall as if they were late, in one side door and out the other, passing the great closed doors. A few followed after, their numbers visibly dwindling. Alec realized this was the tail end of Valentine’s army, moving out. He thought of Lily and Maia.

The last stragglers, a pair of muttering shadowhunters, hurried through the doors. Nocking an arrow, Alec moved down the hall towards the guarded doors. Though he could not see his team, he knew they were moving with him.

They were close now, close enough to see the guards’ circle runes and squinting sneers. One was squinting at them, almost as if he could see them.

“Hey...”

“What,” said the other guard.

The guard pointed.

Alec froze.

“What are those shadows?”

“Now!” yelled Izzy’s voice, and with a shimmer her glamour dropped. She was within reach of the guard and her whip was sailing through the air. The guard ducked, drawing out his seraph blade.

Alec dropped the glamour and saw his teammates do the same, materializing around him. The guards were fighting back, shouting, but six against two was an easy—

“Hey!”

“Stop!”

More soldiers appeared at the top of the hall, pounding towards them. Alec turned, arrow ready, and started shooting. Simon flew out from beside him and attacked the first to reach them, a flurry of fists. Alec felled two more soldiers but a fourth reached them, blade out. Alec fumbled his bow, not enough time to draw his blade—

 _Clang._ A blade appeared in front of his face, blocking the Circle soldier’s blade from his throat. With an angry grunt, Clary shoved the soldier back, swinging her blade and bringing it down towards his head. He parried, and they moved back, fighting bitterly. Alec drew his blade—he would thank Clary later.

He met another approaching soldier, blades flashing. They fought for a few moments before Alec knocked him out. Another appeared and Alec disabled him quickly. Soldier after soldier, and every moment that passed was another moment they were imprisoned, Jace and Magnus, forced to help Valentine, furthering his plans... Every moment was another for Valentine to find out they had arrived, to stop them...

Alec cut down his latest opponent and, chest heaving, looked round at the lavish hall full of fighting pairs and motionless bodies. Simon was hand-to-hand with some Circle member. Clary was yanking her blade from a Forsaken’s chest. Luke had transformed into his wolf form and was squaring off with another Forsaken. Jocelyn was knocking out a Circle member and going to help Simon. Izzy had her whip around a guard’s throat. She let him fall and caught Alec’s desperate eye.

Simon was looking up from the dead shadowhunter, killed by Jocelyn. He looked over at Izzy and Alec, then at Jocelyn.

“We should get mov—” he began. There was a yell from down the hall. They all turned and saw another wave of soldiers pouring in. Simon gaped and Izzy and Alec cursed in unison.

Jocelyn whirled around. Izzy, Alec, and Clary were standing nearest the door—she pointed at them.

“You three! Go!”

Luke, finished dispatching the last of the first wave, looked up.

“Go! We’ll hold them off!” Jocelyn yelled.

“Go!” Luke said. “Save Magnus and Jace!”

Izzy looked at Alec, who was frozen, staring at the oncoming wave of soldiers.

“Alec, come on!” Izzy grabbed his arm and pulled. He stumbled back, heard the doors creak and groan, and saw Valentine’s army fall upon Simon, Jocelyn, and Luke just as the doors closed before him.

But the crash of their closing did not bookend the noise. A different, terrible, echoing sound came from behind him. A slow, grinding wail. Alec slowly turned, Izzy’s hand still on his arm. He heard her gasp.

The room in which they found themselves was long and high, a lavish dining room once, perhaps—but the ostentation had long since rotted into something else. It was a cave of harsh floodlights and stained plastic sheeting, white burn marks on the walls and floors. Debris was strewn everywhere, and a wide portal roared on the wall, white-hot.

And in the center of the room, on the mangled carpet, was a glowing circle. A pentagram, with candles and objects at each of the five corners. In the seconds Alec took to process it all, he recognized the bloodstained diamonds and a piece of bone, probably dinosaur.

The pentagram was aglow, the curves and lines casting beams of white light up like spears. And inside the fence of light, there were three figures. Two stood, holding a bowl and one more, tied to a chair, reading from a book in his lap. The other two were a tall, bald man and a shorter man with an undercut—and holding the book, tied up, but swaying back and forth like a marsh grass—

“Magnus!”

Alec’s voice tore out of him, and beside him Clary and Izzy called out too, yelling for Jace and Magnus both. They flew towards the pentagram. Magnus was speaking, Chthonian crescendoing. His voice wavered as he turned, still speaking the incantation. The other two saw them and shouted.

“No!” Jace yelled.

“Magnus, _stop_!” screamed Clary.

“Read faster!” bellowed Valentine to Magnus, but the three shadowhunters were hurtling towards them. Wind seemed to rise around the pentagram and the shrieking sound grew. The bowl between Jace and Valentine was sparking, and the room seemed to start spinning—

Just as Magnus spoke the last word of the spell, they reached the pentagram. They leapt through the light and into the circle. Yells and shouts were drowned out in the shrieking, grinding noise that swallowed them up.

The sound shook Alec to his core. The room spun around them like a centripetal ride at a fair.

Then, in a wild instant, it was over. Silence fell, the circle stopped spinning, and they were all flung out from the force of the stop. With cries and grunts, they landed around the room.

Dizzy, Alec jumped to his feet. The air felt strange and cool—thin, somehow, stagnant. Around the room, the five shadowhunters were rising dizzily. Only Magnus remained in the circle—unconscious, still bound to his chair.

“Well, well,” said Valentine, standing up. He was between Magnus and the portal, and rubbing his hands together. “The rescue team came just in time, didn’t it?” he said to Magnus’s motionless form. “Or—not quite in time, I guess. Just barely too late.”

“What’s going on?” demanded Clary.

“You want to come and see?” Valentine said. He pointed. “That portal goes to the vault where the missing pieces of my cup are locked. My son and I are going through. My daughter is of course, welcome to join.”

Jace had stood and moved beside his father. Heart thumping, Alec looked at his parabatai for the first time in almost a month. He was thinner and more clean-shaven, with neat, unremarkable clothes and a haggard look in his mismatched eyes. Alec stared desperately at his stepbrother, trying to read the signs. What had Valentine done to Jace?

“Don’t you listen?” Clary was saying. “I’ll never join you.”

Valentine shrugged.

“Come along then, Jonathan,” he said. Jaw slack, Alec watched as, face impassive, Jace turned to the portal.

“Jace, no!” Alec yelled, starting forward. “Don’t go with him!”

Jace turned, eyes finding Alec’s. His blue and brown gaze crossed the space between them as Valentine put an arm round Jace’s shoulders and pulled him through the portal. In that second of eye contact, time seemed to distend even further.

Jace winked.

Both men vanished.

Alec heard a wordless yell and saw Clary fly towards the portal and disappear too. He gasped. Izzy cried out, “Clary!” but the redhead was already gone.

She turned to Alec, eyes wide.

“I have to go through!” she said.

Alec looked from her to Magnus and back.

“She and I can, can delay Valentine, or help Jace with whatever he’s doing, if he has a plan at all, which wouldn’t be like him—”

“He... has a plan,” Alec said slowly.

Izzy’s mouth opened in surprise.

“You should go,” Alec said to her.

“You’re... okay with that?” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll stay and wake Magnus. He’s the only one who can reverse the spell. Or close the portal.”

Izzy’s mouth turned to a determined line. She nodded.

“Good luck,” he said.

“Same to you, big brother.”

Izzy turned and vanished into the portal. And then it was just him and Magnus, unconscious, in the cavernous room.

He rushed to Magnus’s side.

“Magnus,” he murmured, dropping to his knees in front of the chair. “Magnus.”

No other words came to him. It had been almost a month. A month. If they had been together, maybe he wouldn’t have been captured—but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he was alive—yes, still alive, Alec sighed with relief as he pressed two shaking fingers against Magnus’s neck, feeling his pulse. His trembling hands rose to cup the warlock’s face, feeling stubble under his palms, looking at his shadowed eyes, his hair hanging limp, the trickle of blood from the corner of his lip.

“Magnus... Magnus...” Alec kept saying. He had to wake him up. He had to untie him. He—

“A...” Magnus’s mouth cracked open.

“Magnus!”

“Al... Alexander,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

“Magnus, oh my god,” Alec said, clutching his face. “Are you okay?”

Magnus coughed. “Should have... told you...”

“No, it’s...”

Alec hesitated. Magnus was right, he _should_ have told someone where he was going. But this was not the time. Instead of answering, Alec wrapped his arms around Magnus. His arms were still shaking. So was Magnus. The warlock’s face pressed into the crook of Alec’s neck. Magnus sighed a deep, shuddering sigh that moved both their chests. Alec gripped him tighter.

“Alec,” came a murmur from his collarbone.

“It’s okay,” Alec said.

“Alec,” Magnus said, and his back stiffened. He was waking up. “I have to close the portal.”

Alec let go. He was still shaking. Magnus was looking up at him, eyes sharp.

“Untie me.”

* * *

They stood in front of the mirror for what felt like hours. Half-shadowed in the moonlight, Lily turned to her. She smiled grimly. Maia nodded back. She was too scared to smile.

The rumbling began only a moment later. It was like a distant highway, a horde of cargo trucks barreling towards them. Rumbling. Maia raised the sword Luke had given her, and beside her, Lily raised her fists.

The rumbling resolved into footsteps. Marching, but not quite in time. And then all at once, they were there.

Blades and eyes flashing, Valentine’s horde emerged from the mirrors. With cries and shouts, the downworlder vanguard met them. Steel clashed with adamas. Arrows flew. Lily was already in hand-to-hand with the first shadowhunter to come out of the mirror, and Maia, shaking, charged forward.

A blade met hers with a resonating clang. She had only the barest swordfighting training ( _because this is the twenty-first goddamn century,_ she thought) so, blade locked with her enemy, she bared her wolf teeth and kicked his leg out from under him. He went down with a grunt of surprise and she raised her sword, swinging it down with her teeth still bared. There was a sick thinking squelch, and blood splashed up.

He was dead. It was so easy.

Around her, downworlders met Valentine’s army with roars and shrieks and sickening noises. Maia, panting, lowered her bloody sword. She looked around, heart pounding in her stomach.

Maia reset her fighting stance and raised her sword against the next soldier out of the mirror—a lumbering Forsaken. It was not the type to fall for tricks, just a battering ram with a sliver of brain. She stabbed blindly, sending her sword right through its chest. It seemed unperturbed. It grabbed her wrist and twisted, and Maia cried out, letting go of the sword. Moonlight hit its dead eyes. Her cry turned to a yell of rage.

“Let go of me!”

Feeling the cold moonlight on her back, Maia reached down, down inside. The part of her that was a wolf, always a wolf, tethered down, she reached in and loosed the knot. A snarling, roaring beast tore up and out, rushing like adrenaline through her chest and limbs. She felt her skin prickle and grow fur, her hands and feet ripple and grow claws. Her teeth bared and with a last jerk, Maia transformed.

Her mouth was no longer fit for words, but she didn’t need any. She tore her hairy foreleg from the Forsaken’s grasp and yanked away, bringing her other paw back, claws out, and raking it across its face. The Forsaken stumbled back, and Maia leapt forward. Her claws sank into its chest and her teeth into its throat, tearing and pulling, the tar-like taste barely registering, hot, thick liquid flowing and tense sinews snapping, and the Forsaken was writhing. Maia tore away, spitting out the disgusting throat, and watched it fall back, blank eyes rolling.

Another Forsaken was rushing towards her. Maia threw down the sword and turned again, claws out. Ready to fight.

* * *

The portal roared and rushed around her and then she was out, tumbling to a metal floor.

“Jonathan, grab her,” she heard Valentine say, before she had even stood up.

Clary scrambled to her feet and took in the room, if it could be called that. It was really just a metal box no larger than that of a cargo truck, bolts along every seam, lit with dull fluorescence. In the center, there was a glass case on a dais. Inside it, she knew, were the fragments of the Mortal Cup.

But she had no more than a second to assess the situation before her arms were pinned behind her back and a knife was against her throat. Jace’s breathing was shallow behind her head, and his grip was stiff. Clary didn’t struggle—she looked at Valentine, trying to gauge how hard it would be to—

With a humming hiss, the portal lit up again and—Clary’s heart leapt—Izzy! She rolled and sprang to her feet, whip in hand.

“Valentine!” she began.

“Don’t move,” Jace interrupted, tightening his grip. Izzy’s froze, looking from him to Valentine and back to Clary. Their eyes met. _Get him,_ Clary tried to say silently. _Just do it! Jace won’t hurt me!_

Izzy dropped her whip and raised her hands.

“Excellent,” said Valentine. “You just stay right there, Lightwood.”

Izzy’s lip curled, but she stayed silent.

“Now... if the children are done bickering,” Valentine said, with a theatrical gesture towards the pedestal, “I have something to take care of.”

Clary stiffened, but Jace’s grip was like steel. Their father approached the pedestal and opened the glass case.

“No!” shouted Izzy.

But nothing happened. No alarms went off, no traps were sprung, no knives flew out of the wall. Valentine reached inside the glass case. He picked up the largest shard, then pulled another out of his pocket. He pressed their cracked edges together where they had once fit, and a dim light glowed. The cup started to repair itself.

One by one, he produced the four missing pieces from his jacket and fused them with the ones in the case, a calm smile on his face.

“I don’t understand,” Clary said despite herself. She looked to Izzy, then back to her father. “Aren’t there alarms? Sensors? Did Magnus disable them?”

“Not quite,” Valentine said, fusing two large pieces. “The spell you and your friends interrupted was a time-bending spell. Right now, time is running slow for the whole universe—everyone but us. The sensors around the cup have a millisecond-delayed reaction time—a millisecond that, for us, is now a few minutes.”

He held up the cup: completed. With a chilling grin, he turned to face them, holding the Mortal Cup.

“And that’s all the time I need.”

Izzy gasped. Clary clenched her teeth, struggling against Jace. His knife slipped and she felt a searing slice on her throat. She cringed, pulling back, and Jace cursed under his breath.

“You and your little coalition, Clary,” Valentine was saying, eyes on his precious Cup. “You ran around for months, chasing the breadcrumbs I left, yet only one figured out what I was planning. You really didn’t know about the time spell? I was sort of proud of my plan... I guess that’s why I let you guys in on so many clues. To show off. But it seems I underestimated your collective intelligence.”

Clary glanced at Izzy at the same time her friend looked at her. They shared a second of eye contact, the kind of wordless gaze that says simply, _this asshole._

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” he went on, still admiring the cup. “I have it now. The cup that can turn mundanes into shadowhunters. I won’t need these oafs, the Forsaken, or the backstabbers from the old Circle—I can raise a new army now, better, naturally loyal, unquestioning and fearless.”

Finally, he looked away from the Cup. He looked at Clary, her brother’s blade at her throat, blood on her neck. His eyes were soft.

“It’s all coming together, Clarissa,” he said. “There’s only two things missing.”

“Oh yeah?” she said, even though she knew what he would say next.

“You and your mother,” Valentine said. “A new age is dawning. A new empire. I’d rather have you two on my side, by my side, than fight you. And Clarissa, if you come over, I know your mother will too. Your brother has already chosen... Don’t you want to be with him? With us? Your family?”

Rage coiled in gut, twisting her stomach. Clary thought she might be sick. “I’d rather die,” she spat. “Kill me first.”

Valentine’s gaze hardened.

“Well,” he said, “I tried the carrot. But I guess I’ll have to use the stick.”

He set down the cup, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a dagger.

“I would never kill you,” he said, holding up the dagger, “My own flesh and blood. But I have no issue killing your friend here.”

His eyes turned on Izzy, who froze, emptyhanded and defenseless. The scream tore out of Clary without warning, and without a single conscious thought, she exploded out of Jace’s grasp. The dagger flashed through the air, sailing towards Izzy, but Clary was faster. She threw herself on top of Isabelle, arms around her, and together they tumbled to the floor. Clary heard two yells, Jace’s and Valentine’s, indistinguishable, and a strange pressure in her side. It burned so hot she could scarcely feel it at first. Then she felt it—the weight, the weight of the dagger, buried deep in her flesh, and she knew she had been hit.

* * *

Alec finished pulling off Magnus’s restraints, his hands shaking. Magnus’s wrists were bruised. He needed some bandages, or salve—but the warlock was already rising.

“There’s no time to explain, Alec—” Magnus struggled to stand. Alec frowned, and tried to help him up, but Magnus waved him away. “Valentine forced me to... to build the spell. And the portal. But there is still a way I can... trap him in there.”

“Trap him?” said Alec. “Won’t everyone else be trapped too?”

Magnus finally managed to stand. “Yes. But then the spell can, can run out the clock,” he said, breathing labored. “And they’ll be trapped inside until the alarms are activated and the—proper authorities arrive.”

He started hobbling towards the roaring portal. Alec couldn’t take it—he put his arm under Magnus’s, trying to support him.

“I have to close the portal,” Magnus rasped, barely audible over the thundering portal. “Stand back.”

“But you can’t—” said Alec, gripping his arm.

“It’s the only way,” said Magnus. “Stand back, Alexander.”

“You’re too weak!” cried Alec. “Look at yourself. You’re barely standing!”

“Stay back!” Magnus yanked his arm away. “I have to do this myself!”

“No, you don't, Magnus!”

Magnus stared at him, breathing heavily. Under the flashing portal, drifting smoke, and a bruise on one eye, Magnus’s eyes burned yellow. The flash of his warlock mark. Alec had seen it only once or twice, and it always made his heart thump. For a second, as they stared at each other, Alec felt the weight of their history together, the intensity of their connection. But what was it? A couple months? Magnus had lived for hundreds of years. He had seen so much, helped so many. And he would for centuries more. Staring into those yellow eyes, the portal roaring in his ears, Alec thought wildly of their future—not of their past, and not Magnus’s life after Alec was gone. Their future.

“Magnus, you aren’t strong enough,” said Alec hoarsely. “And you don't _have_ to do it alone.”

He held out his hand. Magnus looked down at it.

“Please,” said Alec. “Take my strength.”

The portal flashed and roared. Magnus looked back up at him. His eyes were wide.

“ _Please_ ,” whispered Alec.

Magnus took his hand.

Alec felt the rush right away. His energy draining. He squeezed his eyes shut, and gripped Magnus’s hand. Magnus squeezed tighter. Alec squeezed back. His energy flowed out, making him dizzy. With a deep breath, he opened his eyes, and watched Magnus. His eyes were brighter, blue sparks flying around him. The portal was bending, rippling, contracting. Magnus pulled and pushed with his other hand, his fingers dancing, and then, with a last pulse of energy, the portal exploded into a beacon of white light.

It was almost blinding. Engulfed in light, Magnus turned to meet Alec’s gaze. Their hands turned, rotating, and their fingers wove together. Alec stared into Magnus’s beautiful eyes, squeezing his hand tight. His heart beat hard. He could feel their pulses in their palms, pressed together. Beating as one.

* * *

Clary knew she had gone into shock and thanked her body for it, but the sensation of the dagger in her side, with no pain, was overwhelmingly bizarre. She was gasping for breath, she realized, and strong arms were wrapping around her, supporting her—Izzy, she saw. Izzy sat her up, arms protectively around her. Clary’s view was blocked, but she could hear a skirmish—

“What’s going...” she tried to say, but the words barely came out. Izzy was letting go, standing up—

“Put it down,” Valentine’s voice said.

“Keep your hands up,” said Jace’s.

“I said put it down, Jonathan,” said Valentine forcefully. “You’re better than this.”

“My name is Jace,” he said, and his voice was shaking, but strong. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Izzy was picking up her whip, and now Clary, in a haze of suppressed pain and rapid blood loss, could see what was going on. Jace was standing at the glass case, holding a tiny glowing bottle over the cup. Valentine, distracted by his daughter flying across the room, had not seen his move until it was too late. On the wall next to them, the portal pulsed strangely.

“You’re probably bluffing anyway,” Valentine said. “How do I know if that’s really a bomb?”

“Go ahead, try me,” Jace said. “I don’t need to make you believe me. This cup means absolutely nothing to me. I just had to help you fix it—make sure all the pieces were out of your hands, and take it away from you. I’d blow it up right now, but I don’t think the Clave would be too happy about that.”

Valentine stared, expression shocked. Clary felt a rush of satisfaction and pride.

“It was a simple enough plan,” Jace said. “But I won’t waste time monloguing about it like you did. The spell should run out soon, and the guards outside will hear the alarm, and you’ll be taken into custody.”

“You _ungrateful little—_ ” began Valentine, lurching towards Jace, but Izzy stepped forward, brandishing her whip.

“Don’t move, Dad,” Jace said, wiggling the glowing vial.

Valentine’s teeth were gritted. He glanced at Izzy, then Jace, then Clary saw his eyes land on the portal on the wall. He sprang forward, barreling towards the portal, but Izzy’s whip flashed out and coiled round his leg and he fell with a cry. Then, before their eyes, the portal growled, rasped, and closed.

“No,” Valentine hissed, trying to get to his feet. “No...”

Izzy pulled up her whip, and he stumbled down again. “You heard Jace. Just wait right there. The Clave guards are coming.”

Valentine raised his hands, his face slack with shock. Izzy pulled her whip free and he stood gingerly.

“How much longer, Jace?” Izzy asked.

Jace looked at his watch. “Only a min—”

That second looking away from the cup was enough. With a strangled cry, Valentine flew across the room towards Jace. Jace, eyes widening, threw down the vial.

The glowing liquid exploded right into the translucent goblet. It sparked and glimmered, then, with lava-like motion, melted into ember. The cup tipped into itself, the stem bent and sank, and it collapsed into a bright red coal that burned for only a second before it too winked away. The glass case was empty, and all that was left was the faint smell of rubber.

Valentine had tackled Jace but Jace threw him off, and Izzy rushed over, grabbing his wrists and wrapping her whip around them. “Get back!” she was yelling, and Valentine was screaming curses at his son, who scrambled away. Jace looked entirely himself again, Clary saw through her haze of pain. His eyes were terrified and proud and full of tears. He didn’t have anything more to say to their father, as Izzy wrestled him to the ground. So he didn’t say anything.

The lights in the vault flickered. A warmth seemed to seep from the wall Clary was leaning against. The vault began to shake. The spell was running out.

With a roar, time realigned and the lights in the vault turned red, sirens were blaring, and Clary felt her body freeze. The defensive spells Magnus had put in place, surely—finally waking up, after the longest millisecond in history. She closed her eyes as the door hissed open and guards voices barked at them. Izzy and Jace and Valentine were all yelling back. _Get her help!_ they were saying. _Cuff him! Call a medic! Please!_

Clary let out a sigh and fell into the beckoning blackness. They were safe.

* * *

_And in the middle of the flood, I felt my worth_

_When you held onto me like I was your little life raft_

_Please know that you were mine as well_


	11. Chapter Ten

_Our life is over, it's all been left behind_

_So many choices separate us now_

[ [from](https://youtu.be/9rbRwV0T0AQ) ]

10.

The Lightwood siblings sat with them for hours. Izzy would shake her head in disbelief, and Alec would glance over at her. She would say something like, “I can’t believe she saved me,” softly, never taking her eyes off Clary’s sleeping face. Alec, from the other side of Magnus’s bed, would roll his eyes fondly and say something like, “You big marshmallow.”

Hours passed, the sun rose; they both drifted off in the uncomfortable infirmary chairs. Doctors and healers bustled in and out but Izzy, half-roused, would not let go of Clary’s hand. Alec was fast asleep, his hand resting on the bed beside Magnus.

* * *

The Clave was politely grateful, but still mostly its old self, Lily and Maia agreed after the debriefing. As if they had forgotten the meeting from only a few days before, they treated both Downworlder women with something resembling respect. In fact they had offered them both jobs as envoys, meant to connect their respective communities with the Clave government. Lily had told them she needed to discuss it with Rafael, and Maia had followed her lead, saying she should talk to Luke about it—but frankly she couldn’t believe such a position didn’t _already_ exist.

“How can they just _now_  realize the importance of that kind of diplomatic relationship?” Maia demanded in the Senate lobby, linking her arm through Lily’s.

“They haven’t, really,” Lily said. “This is the first step. It’s a step in the right direction, but I frankly don’t see things really improving anytime soon. It will only get harder from here.”

“Are you going to accept, then?”

“I think so,” said Lily. “You?”

“Duh,” said Maia.

“You never struck me as a legislator,” Lily said, smiling.

“Someone’s got to do it,” Maia said. She grinned back. “Besides, first time for everything.”

Lily smiled wider, flashing a pointed tooth.

“Well, I look forward to working with you, Miss Roberts.”

Maia suppressed a laugh. “And I you, Miss Chen.”

“Hey,” said a voice. They looked up.

“Oh hey Alec,” said Maia. “How’s Magnus?”

Alec ignored the question. “Hey. What happened in there?”

“Just a lot of institutional legal babble and some commendations,” said Lily. “Job offers. Investigation committees starting.”

“Investigating wh—wait, job offers?”

“We’re going to be diplomatic envoys between the Werewolf and Vampire communities, respectively,” Maia said.

“Wow,” said Alec. “Well that’s progress.”

Maia and Lily exchanged a look. “Ask your—ask Magnus about it when he wakes up,” said Lily, “But I’m pretty sure hundreds of years of oppression are not about to get reversed by a two-person diplomatic relationship... But he’s got a few hundred more years experience with the Clave so, who knows. Maybe he’ll be more optimistic.”

Alec laughed humorlessly. “Point taken.”

Maia smiled.

“Listen, I came to ask about Jace. Did they hand down a decision about him? I know he’s still being held...”

“Oh, yes,” said Maia. “They did. They're going to let him out, but there’s going to be an inquiry.”

“An inquiry,” Alec repeated.

“Yes,” said Maia. “To make sure he wasn’t a spy for Valentine.”

Alec opened his mouth with visible outrage, then shut it. He composed his face. “Makes sense.”

“Yeah, it does,” said Lily.

“Hey, who knows, maybe it will be a fair and just investigation,” said Maia. “This is the dawn of a new era, after all.”

All three of them laughed.

* * *

“But you know? I’m glad things went the way they did.”

“Seriously? All of it?”

“All of it, man,” said Jace. “I went into the belly of the beast. And I pulled myself back out.”

Alec made a face of concession. He couldn’t argue with that. Their rescue mission had been only half of what stopped Valentine, and Jace had, really, freed himself.

They were sitting on the floor in the hall outside the infirmary in the New York Institute. Magnus and Clary were still in there, both still asleep and in good company. It had been two days since Valentine’s capture and only a few hours since Jace’s release. Jace stretched his legs across the floor, rolling his ankles, and Alec slouched a bit lower against the wall.

“I was tested, and I made the choices I made. I’m proud,” Jace went on reflectively. “I’m _relieved_ , too.”

“Yeah,” agreed Alec.

“I don’t even care about the Spanish Inquisition. I know who I am now. They can get fucked.”

“Probably shouldn't say that _to_ them if you want to get acqu—” Alec began, and Jace shoved him in the shoulder. They both laughed.

“So what did I miss?” Jace asked.

“What, here?” said Alec. “God, not much. Just everyone panicking about you and about Valentine and chasing our own tails.”

“So, the usual,” said Jace. “How’s Magnus?”

“He’s fine,” said Alec bluntly. “The healers said he’s fine, he’s just—healing. He should wake up soon.”

Jace made a face. “Yeah, no, I mean how are _things_ with Magnus?”

Alec made a face back at him. “None of your damn—”

The infirmary door banged open. “Hey!”

Alec and Jace jumped to their feet, startling Simon.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Clary’s waking up!” he said.

Simon led them in, where Izzy, Jocelyn, and Luke were gathered around Clary’s bed. She was smiling blearily at all of them and talking as they came into hearing range.

“...Yes, he’s in custody, Clary,” Luke was saying. “And yes, Jace is fine. He just—he’s right here, in fact.”

Clary looked from Jace to her mother, her smile freezing. She sat up jerkily, winced.

“Mom, mom—”

“What, honey?”

Clary looked at her, emphatically. Jace, hovering on the other side of the bed, looked at Jocelyn with frightened eyes. Alec realized suddenly that Jocelyn and Jace had never actually met. Until now.

“Mom, this is... Jace,” Clary said. “Jonathan Christopher.”

Jocelyn looked at Jace with a slow realization. Then, still slowly, she narrowed her eyes.

“Come here,” she said to him quietly.

Jace obeyed, coming round the bed, and Jocelyn walked towards him. Everyone else drew back as they met at the foot of the bed.

Jocelyn put her hands gently on his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. She looked from one blue eye, to the other brown one; she leaned back again, frowning slightly. Jace was stock-still, like someone who had come upon a woodland creature and feared frightening it.

Finally, Jocelyn shook her head. “You’re not my son.”

Jace’s eyes widened.

“I—huh?”

“Sorry, honey,” she said to him, so quiet Alec barely heard it. “I’m sure you’re a lovely boy. But you’re not my son Jonathan.”

“But my name...?”

“It’s not exactly an uncommon Shadowhunter name, is it?” said Jocelyn. “But name aside, I would know. I would recognize my son. I would recognize him anywhere. And you... are not him.”

Jace let out a choked breath. She wrapped her arms around him in a hug and Jace, in a rush of a million jumbled feelings, hugged her back. He let out another shuddering, almost-sob, but did not cry. Jocelyn rubbed his back, closing her eyes, trying to keep from crying herself. The others stared, Clary with her mouth slightly open. Over Jocelyn’s shoulder, Jace met her eyes. They stared at each other.

Alec heard a sound behind him and turned to see Izzy, quietly leaving the room.

* * *

Izzy did not come back all day, which, Clary thought, was probably normal. Alec told her Izzy had been by her bed for days, before he told her shortly he was glad she was better and then left to sit with Magnus. Izzy was probably getting some well-deserved rest.

But she didn’t come the next morning, which did surprise Clary. She gave her until noon and then sent a text. She glanced over at Magnus and Alec, who was passed out in the chair next to him. She missed Izzy, she realized. She wasn’t lonely—her mom visited, and Luke, and Jace. But it was Izzy she wanted to see.

And she felt certain Izzy wanted to see her.

*  *  *

“Hello?”

Clary looked up.

“Over here!”

Izzy spotted her and smiled, making her way across the infirmary lounge. She wove around the tables and came to stand by the couch Clary was sitting on.

“Hey.”

“Hey!”

“I got your text,” said Izzy. “You wanted to meet here, why...?”

Clary smiled. “I thought we could watch some TV together.”

“You feel okay?”

“Not great, but well enough to get out of bed,” Clary said. She patted the couch beside her and Izzy sat down.

Clary turned on the TV and started flipping stations. Izzy watched from the corner of her eye, feeling nervous and almost defensive. She opened her mouth a few times, then finally, she spoke.

“Clary, I wanted to ask—”

Clary turned quickly to look at her. “Hm?”

Izzy took a breath. “I wanted to ask about... you and Jace.”

Clary gave a small smile. “Oh, of course. The whole, ‘Surprise, you’re not really siblings!’ thing.”

“Yes. That thing.”

“Well, he and I talked today,” said Clary, muting the TV. “Things are... over. The feeling is gone. For both of us. We’ve both been through a lot, and the whole maybe-being-siblings thing, it just...” She shrugged. “It deflated everything.”

“Understandable,” said Izzy. Her heart was thumping.

“And... well, that wasn’t the only reason,” said Clary. “At least, for me.”

Izzy looked at her. “What wasn’t?”

“I mean, I stopped feeling _that_ way about Jace... because of other feelings.”

Izzy’s heart pounded.

“Feelings for other people, I mean,” said Clary, and she smiled, nervously, and looked down at the remote in her hand.

“Is that so?”

Izzy moved a bit closer on the couch.

Clary nodded, suddenly terrified. She fiddled with the remote in her hand, and then another hand appeared, and gently took the remote from her. Clary looked up.

She looked into Izzy’s beautiful eyes and felt a thrill of fear and nerves unlike anything she’d ever felt for Jace. No frustration or tension. Just... affection. Admiration. Partnership.

“What kinds of feelings?” Izzy said softly.

Clary leaned in and kissed her. Izzy exhaled and kissed her back, her hand rising to hold Clary’s shoulder.

Izzy was flooded with joy, and Clary’s mind was in free-fall. Then Izzy’s lips twitched against hers—she was smiling, she couldn’t stop herself. Clary felt a laugh rising inside her and smiled too, and their lips broke apart. They rested their foreheads together and laughed, arms around each other.

“Oh, Izzy,” Clary said when she caught her breath. She buried her face in her friend’s shoulder. “What would I do without you?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” said Izzy with a shuddering laugh. “But we don’t have to. We’ll always be there for each other.”

Clary pulled back and smiled at her. “Don’t get sappy on me, Lightwood.”

Izzy laughed. “Oh I absolutely will get sappy on you, Fray,” she said, and kissed her again.

*  *  *

Magnus sat on a bench, breathing in the sharp January air. He breathed it in, feeling it scrape, not unpleasantly, along his throat, and burn into his lungs. Then he breathed it out, a sigh that took visible form in the air. Magnus watched the cloud expand and then dissolve. He thought about time, dissolution. The way memories faded; the way he did not.

It had been a few days since he woke up in the Institute infirmary, a snoring Alec next to him and an unknown healer hovering above. They had agreed to talk when Magnus was feeling more up to it, and so, three days later, they were meeting in the park by the infamous bridge. Not _on_ the bridge itself, because Magnus did not want to put pressure on things. They were just going to talk.

He watched another cloud of his own breath form and dissolve, considering his mark on the world. He had been around for so long, and would be for so much longer, should he be able to detect his mark? Was such a “mark” only visible after one was gone, he wondered? Did his extended time give it deeper meaning? Or would he just vanish like his exhalations?

Magnus wasn’t worried about these thoughts—he’d been having the same ones, more or less, for hundreds of years. But his occasional brushes with death put these questions in a starker light. As on this occasion.

“God, is anything new anymore?” he murmured to himself. Magnus waved his own steam away with an impatient gloved hand.

“I hope so,” said a voice behind him. He turned. Alec was standing behind the bench, cheeks flushed with the cold.

“Alexander,” said Magnus.

“Magnus,” he said with a small smile.

Alec came around and sat down on the other side of the bench.

“You’re feeling better,” Alec said, sounding unsure if it was a question.

“Much,” said Magnus, “Thank you. Valentine did his best on me, but he’s just a Shadowhunter, after all.”

Alec gave another small smile.

“How are you?”

“Fine, thank you.”

There was a pause.

“So Alec—” began Magnus.

“Listen, Magnus—” Alec began.

They both stopped, then Magnus laughed, and Alec smiled, a real smile.

“I insist,” said Magnus.

“No, you first,” said Alec. “I insist.”

Magnus sighed. “Very well. I’ve been thinking a lot about what went wrong, Alec. Over the past few days I’ve had a lot of time to think, but I’ve been thinking about it since, well, Christmas. Now I know this is your—first real relationship. So I’m going to tell you what I think the problem is.”

He glanced sideways at Alec. The Shadowhunter nodded.

“Put simply, a good relationship is an equal partnership,” said Magnus. “It’s not a shield.”

Alec nodded, then looked away.

“I know you know that, from your parabatai bond,” Magnus said—he was being generous with the truth, and they both knew it. “And the impulse comes from a place of caring. But you and I can’t go around trying to protect each other from everything, including each other. It just won’t work. Our task is to face the world together, as partners. As equals.

“Now I know you’ve never been in a serious relationship, and it’s been a long time since I was in one. But we need to trust each other and have a little faith.” Magnus shrugged. “If I were to diagnose the problem, anyway.”

Magnus looked at Alec’s profile, trying to read the impassive shadowhunter.

“Makes sense,” Alec said at last.

Magnus nodded, and followed his gaze over to the brook.

“I guess you’re right, about trying to ‘shield’ each other,” Alec said after another moment. “I was trying to protect you.”

“I know,” said Magnus.

“It’s the only thing I know how to do,” said Alec with a frankness devoid of self-pity. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. I thought that... numbness would be easier. For you.”

“And for you,” Magnus prodded.

Alec yielded. “Easier for me.”

Magnus looked back at the brook. Alec cracked his knuckles.

“So are we giving it another go?” Magnus said.

Alec glanced at him, but looked away before he could meet his eyes. “Should we?”

“I want to,” said Magnus plainly. “But we have to agree on it, of course.”

Alec finally looked over. He met Magnus’s steady eyes. “You were trying to protect me too,” said Alec. “From knowing how much pain I might cause you... by making you happy. And then leaving. Is that how you are with everyone you care about? Everyone mortal?”

Magnus didn't answer. Alec slid an inch away from him and lowered his head onto the warlock’s shoulder. Magnus sighed raggedly.

He held out his hand, and Alec took it. They wove their fingers together and sat silently, staring at their twined hands.

It struck Magnus how alike they were, how alike they had been all along without realizing it. Consciously, anyway. Protecting others, each feeling they had to be the one to take matters in hand. The depth of their similarity, their outlook, was so perfectly parallel that they could have run on infinitely without ever intersecting. Perhaps it was what had drawn them together; it was certainly what had pushed them apart.

“It was unfair of me, not to trust you,” said Alec at last. Magnus felt his voice resonate in his bones where Alec leaned against him. “I’m young, I've never been, never been in a relationship before. And even if I had, I wouldn't know what to expect of you, Magnus. You're so different.” He lifted his head from Magnus’s shoulder and looked at him. “I should have trusted you when you said you could handle it yourself.”

“I shouldn't have said it,” said Magnus, looking back at him. “Because I can't. It's too much, Alec. The thought of losing you, as I've lost others, is incredibly painful." He sighed. "But I'm going to have time to prepare, and I'll have you. And if I can talk to you about it, if you'll help me to—to share the burden, then I think... that I'll survive.”

“Of course,” said Alec immediately. The words rushed out, but he didn't know what more to say. “Of course.”

Magnus smiled, and Alec did too. The impulse rose in Magnus and he did not fight it. He leaned in and kissed Alec. Alec sighed softly and kissed him back. For a long moment they kissed, and though neither of their minds were blank with joy as they had been the first few times, the rush of comfortable affection was unmistakable. Magnus nudged closer, thinking god, how he had missed Alec. The Shadowhunter’s hand cupped his cheek. After a long moment, they broke apart. They rested their heads together and looked out across the park, neither of them seeing it.

“You say you'll have time to prepare,” said Alec after a moment. “But that's assuming we make it that far. We've already broken up once.”

Magnus sat up straighter, and Alec turned to look at him. “I’ll have time,” Magnus said.

“But how can you be sure?”

“I know a lot about relationships, Alec. Relationships of all shapes and sizes. I know what makes them work, and it's not about feelings, or sex or romance, or fight. or breakups. Like I said, it's about partnership. It's about building something together.”

Alec gazed back at him. Magnus took his hand.

“And never,” said Magnus softly, “Have I met someone so willing to work. Never have I been with someone I'd rather build something with.”

Alec’s throat felt tight.

“That's how I know,” said Magnus simply.

* * *

_Even though that we're far apart,_

_we've come so close and it feels so right..._

_Don't give up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow!!! Thank you so much for reading. I can't believe I finally finished this! I hope you all enjoyed it. Please have a gander at the [fic playlist](http://8tracks.com/musabelle42/shattered-cup) if you haven't already cause I'm proud of it!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [@davidfosterwallaceandgromit](http://davidfosterwallaceandgromit.tumblr.com/). I hope you all enjoy the real Season 2 as well and I will see you on the other side.


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